


you hold my head underwater

by apricots



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: (not really) friends to (not really) lovers to (for sure) enemies, Angst, Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Coercion, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fake Fluff, Family, Gaslighting, Humiliation, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Jedi Mind Tricks, Kylo Ren Backstory, M/M, Mind Games, POV Third Person Limited, Pre-Canon, Pseudo-Incest, Sadism, Torture, Unrequited Love, Victim Blaming, Young Ben Solo, Young Poe Dameron, escalating violence, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:03:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricots/pseuds/apricots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Poe and Ben grew up together and it's completely miserable. Maybe they all should have seen it coming when Ben went bad, but hindsight is 20/20.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title is from wishbone by richard siken
> 
> #dealingwithpersonalproblemsviastarwarsfanfiction2k16

When Poe Dameron is two years old, his family suddenly triples in size.

General Organa and her son and her husband and her brother and Chewbacca and Lando aren't there, and then they are. He has a fuzzy memory of Shara carrying him across the thick grass and letting him touch the baby on the nose. A fuzzier memory of General Organa's voice: "His name's Ben."

Suddenly he has six parents and there's always people around, and it's never really quiet again. His house and the Organas' blur together in his early memory, since they're both _home_ , and everyone is always everywhere. Han sprawls on the Dameron porch, fiddling with droid parts with Kes. Luke meditates by the little tree behind Poe's house. Chewbacca carries Poe in the crook of his arm as he tidies the highest shelves in General Organa's parlor, grumbling as quietly as a Wookiee can grumble. Shara sits across the table from Leia, speaking softly and smiling while Poe plays on the floor.

It's not always a big family. Sometimes it's just Kes and Leia and Ben and Poe, when Shara's out and Han's tromping across the galaxy. Sometimes it's just Kes and Leia and Ben, when Shara takes Poe with her and sits him in her lap while she flies her A-wing.

He was too young to really remember his father dying, but he remembers scraps. He remembers Shara holding him and three people hugging her and feeling sort of crushed and mostly safe and comfortable. He remembers the feeling of the cold gravestone under his tiny palm. He remembers his mother crying.

 

***

 

Ben pulls his hair. All the time. He pulls Leia's hair, too-- she says she's pretty sure it means he likes them. At first, Poe really wishes he wouldn't, but there's nothing he can do to stop him. Ben's so much smaller than him, so frail and little and sensitive: if Poe pushes him away, he falls and cries and that feels worse than the sharp tug at his scalp. If he ignores it, Ben gets annoyed. If he tells him to stop, Ben just says, "No."

So he just accepts that this is how it is: Ben pulls his hair, and laughs when he winces.

The first time Poe grabs his wrist and wrestles Ben to the ground, when he's five and Ben is three, it turns into an all-out screaming fight. Mostly a one-sided one; Poe doesn't want to hurt him, not really, but Ben has no such reservations. He claws long scratches down Poe's arm and hits him in the mouth. When Shara and Han pry them apart, Poe is crying and Ben is furious. No one really scolds them for fighting. Shara thinks the bleeding gouges in Poe's arm are lesson enough, and Han thinks Ben is scrappy; he says he doesn't want to teach him not to defend himself.

Ben sulks for about a week, but then he starts pulling his hair even more than he did before and Poe realizes that Ben actually _likes_ fighting him. It's just a game to him, and when he's not actually angry it makes him burst into delighted cackling.

Poe doesn't like fighting, but he likes it when Ben smiles at him and he knows it's not like Ben actually means anything by it, so he goes along with it.

"Poe, sweetheart," Shara says, once, when she's sticking spray-bandages on his scraped knee, "Is everything okay with you and Ben?"

"Yeah," Poe says. The bacta in the bandages stings at the scrape, and he winces. "We're just playing."

 

That's what he says when Ben pushes him off the porch and he hits his head on a sharp rock. He bleeds profusely, and when his mother helps him to sit up everything spins so hard he feels like he's going to throw up. Ben bursts into tears, apparently scared by all the blood. Poe's head hurts a lot, and his face is covered in dirt and blood, but he's sure it looks worse than it really is. He blinks away the tears forming in his eyes and insists, with the taste of blood in his mouth: "We were just _playing_ , it's _fine,_ it doesn't hurt!"

Shara dabs at the wound, shooting little glances at Ben, and says, "You boys shouldn't fight near ledges like that. This is what happens. It's dangerous."

"Sorry," Poe says.

Shara sighs. She looks over at Ben. "Ben, you say you're sorry, too."

Ben wipes at his face and shakes his head. Shara purses her lips, but doesn't press the issue.

It's Poe's own fault, anyway, he thinks-- he's older, so he's the one responsible. That's how it works.

The wound leaves a scar, a little notch in his forehead. Hardly anyone knows it's there, because it's right on his hairline and usually covered by his bangs. Ben's the only one who never seems to forget.

 

***

 

When the Falcon is grounded, that's home, too.

Poe grows up playing in the Falcon with Ben, learning all the hiding spots a little too late to be any good at hide and seek. Ben's always a step ahead; he knows the ship just a bit better than Poe, all the little nooks and crannies and secret passageways. Poe learns them, too, but never fast enough to beat Ben at hide and seek.

Han leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and watches them run around. He never stops them, just keeps an eye on them ducking through shortcuts and poking through the wiring and knocking things over. Ben never manages to convince him to play with them, no matter how hard he wheedles. Chewie does, though. Chewbacca chases after them, roaring, and Poe shrieks and laughs and trips over his feet as he scrambles away.

He loves the Falcon. The way footsteps echo on the floor, the beat-up patchwork interior, the hissing and rumbling and clanking noises it makes. Since he and Ben are so small, Han makes them help fix things. They fit into spots that Chewie and Han can't, in the walls and under the floor and stuff. Poe takes great pride in the fact that he can help repair _the Millennium Falcon_ , even if it is only because he's small and Ben thinks it's a boring chore.

"How come you don't do _all_ my chores for me?" Ben asks. He sits with his back pressed against the wall, knees hugged to his chest, while Poe is half inside the wall of the Falcon. There's a bit of faulty wiring there, and Han doesn't want to have to rip off the entire wall panel, so it's their job to squeeze in and fix it for him. Most of Ben's chores are Ben-and-Poe's chores, really. They're a unit more often than not, and even their parents seem to forget they're not actually related.

"You gotta clean your own room, Benobi. I do this one for you because it's fun." Poe licks his lips and squints at the wires. It's a little difficult to see, inside the wall.

Ben hits the wall, which makes a loud jarring noise that hurts Poe's head. " _Don't_ call me Benobi," he says.

"Don't hit the wall," Poe says, and Ben huffs loudly like Poe's being unreasonable.

"This is _boring_. Let's play tag."

Poe sticks his pliers in his mouth and mumbles, "In a minute."

"I hate you," Ben mutters, but he waits there anyway for Poe to finish, fidgeting and grouchy. He always waits anyway. When Poe finishes and shuffles out of the wall Ben punches him and shouts, "TAGYOU'REIT!" before running off full tilt into the depths of the Falcon, shrieking and laughing.

 

***

 

When Poe Dameron is eight years old, his family is suddenly gone. He is an orphan, and he feels actually alone for the first time.

Shara dies, and the Dameron house sits empty. Leia and her family aren't on Yavin 4 any more, as her work takes her elsewhere and Han never stays in one place.

Poe has to leave. They try to ask him if he wants to go to live with his grandparents, but when Leia shows up he clings to her and doesn't let go, doesn't speak, doesn't even nod or shake his head. He just cries, even though he thinks he's too old for that, even though it's embarrassing.

Han flies him to D'Qar in the Falcon and Poe sits curled in Chewbacca's lap, crying, the whole way. When he steps shakily off the ship the Resistance embraces him, and he's an orphan with a thousand families. He has an excess of parents and siblings and homes. The base is his home, and the Falcon is his home, and Yavin 4 is his home, and the woods are his home, and the lake is his home.

Leia teaches him how to carry the grief without collapsing under the weight of it. Luke teaches him how to let the grief go.

Instead of letting loneliness overwhelm him, he throws himself one hundred percent into learning and socializing and _doing things._ Doing nothing doesn't suit him; when he sits around with nothing to do, the grief creeps back in, and it's too much for him to handle. It closes him off, so he compensates by throwing himself wide open.

He drags Ben with him everywhere he can, even though Ben hates most of the things Poe likes. He doesn't like ships, doesn't like people, doesn't like talking, and he particularly doesn't like that his stubborn quiet means that half the people he meets call him _Poe's little brother_ instead of _Ben._

Ben complains when Poe pulls him along on adventures and sulks when Poe leaves him behind. He's never lost anything, and he's younger, so he never has anything to say, but he lets Poe lean on him sometimes when he's sad and he never makes Poe talk about his mom or his dad if he doesn't want to. Ben doesn't treat him any different at all, and that's a relief.

 

***

 

They sit on the edge of the dock, pants rolled up to their knees. They're small-- nine and seven years old-- but Ben is, of course, smaller; he's thin and drowning in his uncle's black cloak, skinny white arms almost glowing against the dark fabric. His dark hair curls around his neck and flops over his face. Poe is taller and broader, relatively speaking, and his warm skin doesn't contrast so sharply with his hair or his clothes or their muted forest surroundings.

Ben doesn't look like he belongs here, or in the base, or in the Falcon; he's all sharp and monochrome, always wrapped in black and always sullen. He looks out of place everywhere Poe's ever seen him.  Not like Poe, who fits in easily wherever he is and always looks at home. Poe's hair was cut short just a week ago, messily; he doesn't like when it gets in his face, but doesn't care much what it looks like beyond that.

Poe's clothes are all hand-me-downs that he fixed up himself to suit him better-- sewn up smaller, decorated with scraps and patches. Ben's cloak is his only hand-me-down, and it's much too big on him, but he wears it all the time anyway.

They're a funny pair, people often say. Ben is hunched over, arms close to his chest, toes curled, knees together. Poe sprawls, palms flat on the dock behind him, swinging his legs off the dock and splashing his bare feet in the water.

The sun is low in the sky, winding down towards sunset. It's still visible over the trees, but just barely.

A small ball of water floats above Ben's open palms, rippling and shifting just an inch above his skin. It glitters in the sunlight, making it look even more magical than it already does. Ben's dark eyes are fixed intently on it, scowling like the lakewater has done something to offend him. Poe's eyes flick betwee Ben's odd intense face to the jittery orb, because he can't decide which is more interesting. The ball of water is not quite round; the edges shake, uneven and unsteady, and it looks like it might fall apart at any moment. Ben's concentration is fascinating, too, because he's completely still and completely silent, giving no clue whatsoever as to what's happening in his head.

Ben's frown deepens, and the ball steadies a little bit, solidifying into a rounder shape. Poe can't even imagine what it feels like to use the Force like Ben does. Does he feel the water? Can he taste it? Does the effort tire him out? Can he feel the weightlessness? How does he make it move without moving his hands? How does it _work?_ He wishes he could peer inside of Ben's head, to know how it feels to be him. Ben can never really explain how it felt to use the Force, not in a way that makes sense to Poe. It's something you have to feel. It's something you either know or you don't. Poe doesn't.

"I wish I could be a Jedi," Poe says.

Ben wrinkles his nose and the water falls, splashing over his hands and thighs. "Being a Jedi sucks," he mutters, and brushes his hands over his thighs. The water soaked into his pants flies back into the lake, leaving him totally dry. Poe feels a bitter pang of jealousy, a small stab of pain in his lungs. It's so casual, for Ben. It's second nature. It's nothing to him. Using the Force is just a part of him, and it always will be, and there's something sort of frightening about knowing that Poe will just never have that no matter how hard he tries. Ben looks away, chewing on the inside of his cheek, staring into the smooth surface of the lake.

He adds, "It's boring."

Poe tilts his head back and gazes up at the sky, tinted a thousand different colors by the beginnings of sunset. There's nothing boring to him about being a Jedi. Being able to make things move with his mind and do all kinds of flips and fight with a lightsaber seems to Poe like a grand adventure. "I think it's cool," he says, after a pause.

Ben shrugs and hunches even more, pulling his knees to his chest and fiddling with a bit of his old cloak. "Well, it's _not_ ," he says irritably. "I want to be a pilot, like my dad and my uncle and my grampa and your mom and you."

"Your grampa's Darth Vader, he wasn't a pilot," Poe snorts. "What did Darth Vader pilot? I think he just stood and bossed people around."

"My grampa's _Anakin_ _Skywalker_ and he was the best pilot in the whole galaxy," Ben snaps, shoving at Poe's arm. Poe leans indulgently with the shove, then straightens up again, grinning.

"He was not."

"He was! He could beat my dad's stupid record in the Falcon any time. He could do it with his eyes closed."

Poe shoves Ben back. "Nuh-uh."

"Yuh- _huh!_ "

Even now, play fights with Ben rarely end well. As he gets older he only gets more temperamental, more volatile. Whereas Poe is usually cheerfully playing at being mad, more and more often Ben is actually angry. When he gets angry, he gets mean.

Ben shoves Poe hard off the dock and he crashes facefirst into the water, flailing. His surprised yelp makes him inhale a mouthful of water.

For just a moment, he is submerged and drowning. Water rushes into his throat and eyes, blocks out all sound, presses around him heavy and cool. For just a moment, Poe is seized with panic. He thrashes, choking on water, and thinks for a horrible moment that he is about to die.

Then he squeezes his eyes shut and forces his brain to remember to swim and his head is abovewater again. He chokes and gasps for air, scrabbling at the edge of the dock for something to hold on to. Some of the soft algae-soaked wood comes off under his fingernails. Drowning, he thinks, _hurts._ Coughing up water is a sharp unpleasant feeling, and the water in his eyes stings.

Ben watches him with his chin propped up on his hand. His dark eyes gaze down at him, completely unreadable. He doesn't look worried, and he also doesn't look very sorry. Poe spits water at him as he coughs and wheezes; Ben blinks slowly and bats the water out of the air with one hand like he's swatting a bug.

"Ben, what the _heck?_ I could have _drowned!_ " Poe says, when he can speak again.

"I wouldn't let you drown," Ben says, as though this should have been obvious.

Poe stares up at him, breathing hard. He wishes, again, that he could peer inside Ben's head and figure out what he's thinking. He can't tell at all. Apparently troubled, Ben frowns and leans over. He reaches out his hand to Poe, gazing seriously into his eyes. "I was just playing."

With the water out of his mouth and the horrible panic subsiding, Poe finds it difficult to stay mad. He started the fight, after all, and it's not like he doesn't know how to swim. "I know," he says. Poe grins up at him, toothy and broad, and takes Ben's hand.

It takes all of Ben's strength to help haul him back up onto the dock, but he manages to help pull him up high enough that Poe can grab onto the edge and pull himself over. Once he's up, still struggling to catch his breath, Poe flops onto his back and Ben lies down next to him. He rubs his arm, sore from the effort it took to pull Poe up.

"I'm gonna be a better pilot than Darth Vader," Poe declares. "I'm gonna be the best one ever. I'm gonna be a better pilot than your dad and your uncle and your grampa, and you can be my co-pilot."

"No, _you_ can be _my_ co-pilot," Ben says. "I can use the Force, which means I'm gonna be better at flying."

"No way. You don't like ships at all, how're you gonna be better?"

"I like _flying,_ " Ben snaps. "I'm not gonna be a mechanic, I don't need to like fiddling with stuff to be good at flying."

"What if you crash or something breaks?"

"I'll have an astromech."

They lie on the dock staring up at the sky until past dark, past when the stars come out. Poe gets cold first, because his clothes are thin and sleeveless and soaking wet and Ben's wrapped in about five layers like he always is.

"Can I borrow your cloak?" Poe asks. "It's cold."

"No," Ben says flatly. "I'm wearing it."

Poe props himself up on his elbows. "But you have so many layers!"

"It's _mine,_ " Ben says. "Let's just go home, if you're gonna be a baby."

Poe huffs out a sigh and they walk home together, dirt sticking to their bare feet on the rough paths through the forest. They walk side by side, Ben staring at the ground, Poe trailing his fingertips over leaves and tree trunks as they pass them.

"I think Jedi are supposed to be super nice all the time," Ben says.

Poe glances at him. His hair is still dripping water down the back of his neck. "You're not super nice," he says.

"Yeah," Ben says.

He never apologizes for pushing Poe into the lake. Ben rarely apologizes for anything, and if he does it's never sincere-- just a mumbled quick "sorry" before he shrugs and moves on.

 

***

 

When Ben goes to live with Luke, when he's ten and Poe is twelve, Poe hugs him too tight for too long and Ben calls him a baby. "It's not like you're never gonna see me again," Ben grumbles into his shoulder.

Poe swallows around a painful lump in his throat and feels tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. That unpleasant ache of knowing he's about to cry burns behind his eyes and he takes a shaky breath. "I'm gonna miss you a lot, though," Poe croaks. "You're my best friend."

They've barely spent any time apart since they were tiny, after all, and they haven't gone a single day without seeing the other since Shara died. Just thinking about being suddenly actually by himself makes Poe sick with anxiety.

Ben tugs on Poe's shirt and, very very quietly, says, "I'm gonna miss you, too," and Poe actually bursts into tears.

It's not the cool thing to do, and he's terribly embarrassed, and he tries to feebly apologize in between shuddering sobs, but it doesn't help much. Ben freezes up; his back stiffens and his shoulders tense. "Don't cry," he says. "It's weird."

"Sorry," Poe mumbles. It feels like the end of the world, like his family's been ripped apart all over again. "You won't forget about me, right?"

"Of course not," Ben says. "You're the only person in the galaxy I don't hate."

Poe laughs weakly and ruffles his hair, and then Ben pulls away and he's gone. Disappeared into space.

 

A few days after he's gone, Poe takes over Ben's bedroom. Something about Ben's absence feels too sharp, and Poe feels a desperate need to hang on to some concrete part of Ben so that he doesn't slip away entirely. Everything is too much the same with him gone; no one really talks about him, and nothing changes for anyone except Poe.

So he moves in to Ben's room, mixes in his stuff with Ben's. General Organa says, "I miss him, too, Poe. You're welcome to stay here. You're family, after all." Han isn't around much any more, so Leia's permission is all he needs.

They keep each other company. Poe misses Ben and Han, like she does. She understands him in  a way no one else does.

Poe finds that even his own life is distressingly the same with Ben gone. He misses him a lot for a long time, but even that fades eventually, lost in the wash of things he has to fill his time. He practices flying, and he helps the mechanics, and he carries messages back and forth, and he goes to school, and he races his friends to the lake and does cannonballs off the edge of the dock.

Every morning Poe and Leia eat breakfast together. Poe wolfs down his rations and chatters excitedly about how his flying is going, and Leia smiles at him and watches the news holos while drinking tea. Every night, Leia is awake reading something or inspecting holograms when he gets home, no matter how late it is. She doesn't enforce his curfew, but she doesn't need to; her stern vaguely disappointed looks are punishment enough for him. He sticks to his curfew all on his own.

Every night, he collapses in Ben's bed, face buried in Ben's pillow, and he crosses off another day on his countdown to Ben's next visit. He keeps it pinned to the wall next to the bed, so it's the first and last thing he sees every single day. It's only at night, when he stares at his countdown, when he really misses Ben. He falls asleep clutching the pillow to his face, curled up on the bed in a tiny ball, surrounded by the mess of his things mixed with Ben's.

 

When Ben comes back the first time, six months later, as pale and sullen as ever, Poe feels an overwhelming rush of feelings-- _I missed him_ being the most prominent. Ben looks the same as he did when he left, but seeing him after so long feels different. It feels awkward, which is something they never were.

The awkwardness is not helped at all when Poe realizes he has to tell Ben that he's taken over his room. He stutters a bit, fumbling around for a way to say it that won't make him upset, before settling on, "I kind of moved into your room."

Ben has no reaction at all for a long terrifying moment; he looks at Poe, unreadable and still, and Poe gets ready to apologize-- but then Ben shrugs and says, "If someone was gonna move in, I'm glad it's you."

Poe grins at him and hugs him, and Ben gives him an irritable pat on the back.

 

That night Poe sleeps on the floor for only about half the night. Ben wakes him up at one in the morning by flinging a pillow at him. It hits him square in the face and he jolts awake, halfway through a dream.

Poe groans and pushes the pillow off his face. "Ben, it's late," he grumbles, then rolls over with the full intent of going right back to sleep.

Hoarse and annoyed, Ben says, "I can't sleep because I feel bad you're on the floor."

Poe yawns and rubs his eyes. "Well, _I_ was sleeping _fine_. Stupid."

" _You're_ stupid. Just sleep in the bed, okay?" Ben snaps. "There's room for both of us and I don't wanna feel bad. It's annoying."

Poe coughs a hoarse tired laugh. "Feeling bad is annoying?"

"Yes," Ben says curtly. "It is."

"Maybe you need more practice," Poe says.

"Shut up."

Poe doesn't see Ben move, but he knows he must have jerked his hand in a quick sharp motion because the futon he's sleeping on scoots suddenly towards the bed as though yanked by an invisible strong hand. "Agh!!"

"Sleep in the bed," Ben says again, more aggressively this time.

So Poe crawls into bed, and Ben presses up against the wall to make room for him. They're getting taller, but they're still small-- especially Ben-- and the bed is large enough to comfortably fit both of them. Even so, Poe feels tense and nervous about disturbing Ben. He feels hyperaware of every movement he makes, of his breathing, of everything. He doesn't want to disturb Ben, since Ben hasn't slept at all, so he stays as still as he can, barely even breathing, watching Ben slowly doze off.

He wakes up when Ben does, because during the night their limbs tangled together and Ben is extracting himself without bothering to try to let Poe stay asleep. It feels very early, and he feels like he didn't sleep at all. The light coming in through the window is pale early-morning light, casting a greyish wash over everything.

Poe groans. "What time is it?"

"Dawn," Ben says, visibly annoyed. Having successfully disentangled himself from Poe, he slides off the bed with a loud yawn and stretches his arms over his head. "I have to wake up at dawn to meditate every morning."

"Hmm," Poe says. They kicked off all the blankets in the night, so he pulls them back onto the bed and curls up under them, watching Ben with sleepy interest. He sits crosslegged on the floor and rests his hands in his lap.

"Still think being a Jedi is cool?" Ben asks dryly.

"Yup."

Ben rolls his eyes before he closes them, then settles in and starts to breathe evenly and deeply. It's soothing; Poe finds himself syncing up his breathing with Ben's, and slowly he drifts back off to sleep.

It feels like just a moment passes before a sharp jolt wakes him up. He opens his eyes, grumbling and bleary, and then Ben yanks him out of bed with the Force. He screams and flails, but can't grab onto anything, and he hits his head on the floor.

"Ow!"

Ben laughs at him until Poe grabs his ankle and yanks his leg out from under him and he falls, too.

 

***

 

Poe is fourteen when he figures out he's gay. It changes nothing, except that everything makes a little more sense now. As soon as he figures it out, he tells everyone he knows, excited as ever to tell people new things he's learned. When he tells her, Leia grabs his shoulders and tells him, fiercely, "I won't let _anyone_ give you a hard time about this, you hear me?"

It doesn't occur to him to be nervous until the words are out of his mouth and Ben is staring at him on the video call and he thinks, _oh._

Ben says nothing for an uncomfortably long time. He just looks at him, eyebrows wrinkled, mouth a hard unimpressed line. Poe feels his mouth go dry and panic starts to erode his bubbly optimism. He clears his throat and tries to think of reasons why Ben is looking at him like that, so he can think of something to say to make him stop.

But he doesn't know. Ben's not saying anything, he's just staring. Poe fidgets anxiously.

When he inhales to try to say something-- he's not sure exactly what, but something-- Ben's face suddenly splits into one of his crooked mean grins. He cackles.

Poe stares at him, uncomprehending. "Wh... why're you..."

"You stupid son of a slorth, why would I be _mad?_ You're _so dumb!_ "

Emotional whiplash hits him hard, makes him blink furious tears out of his eyes. Frustration and relief and indignation tangle together; only Ben could possibly be so baffling. "That was _mean!_ " he snaps. Ben looks completely unashamed of himself.

"Your face, though! You were _so upset_. Are you _crying?_ " Ben claps his hands together and rocks up onto his toes, looking downright gleeful. "You're so predictable, Dameron!"

"I thought you seriously hated me!" Poe wipes at his eyes and tries not to look so much like he fell for it. He's not crying, not really, just watery-eyed and upset, but that doesn't make it any less embarrassing. "You shouldn't make jokes like that."

"It's your own fault for falling for it," Ben says. His smile fades a little. "You didn't trust me not to hate you. So, serves you right."

"That doesn't make any sense," Poe grumbles, but he feels bad anyway. Ben, he thinks, is right: he shouldn't have thought even for a second that Ben wouldn't support him. He rubs the back of his neck and finds himself saying, "Sorry," anyway.

Before he can ask how he's doing, or when they're going to see each other next, or anything at all, Ben says, "I gotta go. I have training stuff to do. See you."

Then he just hangs up, and Poe is left wondering how mad Ben actually was.

It comes to him intermittently over the next few months, when he has a moment to breathe in between all his rushing around or when he's staring at the countdown on his wall while trying to get to sleep: a nagging uncomfortable doubt. He doesn't feel totally convinced that Ben's not mad at him, even though Ben said he wasn't. He can't shake the feeling, and the more he thinks about it the more convinced he is that he's done something wrong. For the most part, he tries not to think about it.

When Ben comes home next, Poe doesn't bring it up, and neither does Ben, but Poe can feel it hanging uncomfortably in the air every time there's a lull in their conversations. Every time, he thinks he's going to be able to work up the courage to say something, but every time Ben cuts him off just in time and he loses his confidence.

 

They watch old movies on a crappy HoloNet projecter in a little storage room at the side of the hangar. Ben sprawls on the floor and hogs the berries they picked together, and Poe only pays half attention to the movies while he fiddles with a little model X-wing he's nearly finished putting together.

Ben gets absorbed enough in the movies that he goes quiet for a while, and this time-- _this time_ \-- Poe is determined to actually ask him if he's mad at him. Even though they've been spending time together every day and nothing is weird, he still feels compelled to ask. The thing is, he knows it's probably fine, and that asking is probably just going to make Ben annoyed, and he's gonna get made fun of, but he can't shake the uneasy feeling unless he asks.

"Hey, Ben," he says.

Ben glances at him, fingers and lips and teeth stained purplish-red from the berries-- Poe tries not to think about how it looks like blood. "What?"

Poe exhales shakily. This is it. It's not a big deal. He knows it's not a big deal. It's just difficult to feel completely at ease when Ben's looking at him with his sharp dark eyes. He clears his throat. "So-- so you're going to think this is stupid, probably, but I just wanted to--"

He's interrupted mid-sentence by the door sliding open. Jessika-- a new friend of his-- leans in, and looks just as startled as he is. "Oh, hey! I didn't think I'd actually find you in here," she says. She grins at Ben, who looks sour and annoyed. "You must be Ben, right? It's nice to finally meet you, you're sort of famous! I mean, Poe never shuts up about you."

"That's not true," Poe says, flushing.

Ben gives her a hard hostile look and flicks his hand at her. " _You're going to go away and not come back_ ," he says, and it sounds strangely heavy. The words have an almost physical weight to them, a deep resonance that doesn't quite sound like Ben.

A chill runs up Poe's spine as Jessika's back stiffens and her face goes blank. "I'm going to go away and not come back," she says. Her voice is flat and entirely without inflection. It's eerie.

"What? No, Jess, it's fine, he's just--"

Jessika doesn't react at all, as if she can't even hear him-- she just turns and leaves without saying anything else before he can finish. The door hisses shut behind her, and Ben pops a handful of berries into his mouth as though nothing strange just happened. He glances up at Poe and asks, "What were you gonna say?"

Poe stares down at him. "Ben," he says slowly, "What did you just do to Jessika?"

"I told her to leave and she left." Ben shrugs. His voice is pitched like it is when he lies to his parents, way too casual and bordering on flippant. It's an unconvincing feigned innocence that he inherited from Han, and he hardly ever tries to use it on Poe.

Being lied to like that makes Poe tense up. He knows Ben did something, and the fact that Ben's at all hesitant to tell him what it was makes him more worried. "Ben, you _did something._ "

"It's just a Jedi mind trick," Ben says, as though needing to explain it is an aggravating inconvenience and Poe is being completely unreasonable. "All I did was make her want to leave."

"What-- you-- but--" Poe stutters for a moment, stumbling his way through a thousand different things he wants to say. " _Why?_ "

"Because it's faster than asking," Ben says.

Poe's heart jumps into his throat. Is this what being a Jedi is? He can't remember anybody ever talking about that part of being a Jedi, not Luke or Leia or Han. "You can't _do_ that."

Ben raises his eyebrows at him and licks berry juice off his thumb. "Obviously, I _can,_ " he says mildly.

Distress raises his voice to a half-shout and clenches his hands into fists and Poe snaps, "But you _shouldn't!_ "

For a long moment, Ben looks at him with a distant glittering interest, like he's observing some peculiar rare phenomenon that he doesn't understand but finds entertaining anyway. "You're upset,"  he says. "Why are you upset?"

"Because you forced her to do something she didn't want to do, and now you're acting like it's not a big deal!"

"It's _not_ a big deal. You're acting like I did something _wrong,_ when all I did was get her to leave the room, which she would have done anyway!" Ben snaps.

Poe actually shouts, this time: "It's not about _what_ you made her do, it's that you made her do anything at all! You could have just _asked!_ "

Ben stands up with a sharp frustrated noise, fidgeting with his clothes in jerky abrupt movements. "This is so _stupid,_ " he says, and starts to pace back and forth. Ben only paces when he's actually upset, and Poe feels a guilty sense of relief. Frustrated and impatient he can understand. He stands, too, and Ben glares at him. "What's the point of training to be a Jedi if I don't use the Force?"

"Jedi are supposed to _help_ people!"

"I did help! We were interrupted in the middle of a conversation that _you_ were anxious about! Why can't I use the Force to help _myself?_ I'm a person, too!"

"That's _different,_ it's--" Poe gestures broadly, frustrated with his own inability to communicate. "There's ways to help that don't involve screwing with people's heads! You didn't _need_ to mind control her to get her to leave, you just-- it's-- it's _fucked up,_ Ben!"

 Ben glares at him, jaw clenched tight.

Weight presses hard on Poe's chest. Something hums in the air, an unidentifiable vibration that isn't quite a sound, and an unpleasant coolness starts to creep up Poe's legs. Poe tries to breathe, but his chest is constricted-- breathing feels slow and difficult. He can't move.

"What-- what is this, what's--"

" _Calm down,_ " Ben says. His voice is low and humming with the same strange quality it did when he spoke to Jessika. It presses down on his mind, huge and heavy and insistent, leaning harder and harder until the anger and anxiety shatters apart.

Everything stops for a moment-- his heart, his breath in his throat, his thoughts-- and then restarts, slower. Poe's face smooths over, his arms drop loose to his sides, and he sways on his feet as emptiness replaces whatever he'd been feeling a moment ago. The cold that started at the bottoms of his feet is now sliding through his lungs and arms and throat. It's like being slowly dipped in ice water-- too cold, but numb after a minute.

He breathes slowly and evenly, vision unfocused.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Ben says, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're being unreasonable."

All he did was tell her to leave. It's not like she wasn't going to leave anyway. All he did was remove a few unnecessary steps. Poe blinks and rubs his eye with one hand to try and clear his vision, which is unfocused and vague. Moving is difficult and slow. It's like a dream-- the soft murmur of his thoughts feels distant and foreign, and everything in the room feels dubiously real. He can't quite reach what he was thinking about, but that's fine. There's no reason to be upset. Why was he yelling? That's no way to have a conversation. All Ben did was tell her to leave. What's the big deal?

He doesn't consciously decide to say anything. He just speaks, without thinking about it much. "You didn't do anything wrong," Poe says. His voice sounds distant, like someone else is speaking through a thick glass wall. "I'm being unreasonable."

Ben's mouth twitches into a crooked smile and the weight suddenly lifts. The fog clears as suddenly as it came, and outrage surges through Poe's veins as he actually processes what just happened. Anger is quickly followed by a visceral repulsion so strong it staggers him back a few steps.

"You _mind-controlled_ me," he says hoarsely, staring at Ben with unmasked horror.

"What, now it's bad for me to try to calm you down?" Ben snaps. "You're ridiculous."

"You got inside my head and you... you..."

Poe stares at him, blinking, trying to think what it felt like. It didn't feel that terribly different-- it didn't _hurt_ \-- it was just that for a strange minute the way he was thinking abruptly changed to something not quite right. Still, the murmur lingers: _you are being unreasonable._ He can't articulate why he's so upset, but he knows it's not unreasonable-- or he's pretty sure it's not unreasonable-- is it?

Ben's eyes narrow.

The room sways around him. His head is spinning. He _is_ being unreasonable, is the thing. Ben wasn't trying to hurt anybody, and he wasn't trying to be mean, he just... made a mistake. That's no reason to shout. He sees Ben so rarely, is it really okay for him to be getting in fights with him over stuff that doesn't matter?

If it was that bad of a thing to do, why would Luke have taught it to him?

"I was trying to calm you down so you'd stop yelling at me," Ben says.

"I feel dizzy," Poe mumbles, and blinks a few times. Everything seems strange. Everything seems off. The conversation feels like it's slipping away from him, and he's not sure he remembers exactly why he was mad. He grabs onto a nearby stack of crates to steady himself.

Ben chews on his lip in silence. He doesn't move, just looks at him. There's no trace left in him of anger, just a vague sullen frustration, and Poe thinks maybe he imagined it. Maybe Ben wasn't actually mad. Maybe he was just projecting.

Everything jumbles together in his head. Was Ben mad? Who started this fight? He shakes his head to try and clear it, but it just makes him feel more sick. He knows he was the one who started shouting first-- probably-- and he knows Ben did some kind of Jedi mind trick on him. But... the more he thinks about it, the more uncertain he is about what happened.

"Ben, what just happened?" Poe asks. He squints to see if that will help the room stop wobbling; it does, a little bit.

Ben blinks, finally. "Huh?"

"I can't remember what I was saying, or what... you did? Why was I shouting at you?" Poe tries to walk it back, but all he comes up with is _confusion, Ben telling him to calm down, shouting._ He doesn't remember why he was shouting, he doesn't remember why he needed to calm down, he doesn't remember what he just said. "It was just a minute ago, but it's... gone, or it's, I guess, blurry?"

Ben looks intrigued; he tilts his head to the side and steps closer, worry pulling his face into a concerned frown. "You can't remember?"

"I mean, it's not like I blacked out, it's just that I..." He trails off, not sure how to describe it. It feels like he wasn't paying attention, even though he knows he was. The time just slipped by. He knows he was here, he knows he was talking to Ben, he knows he was mad, but he can't remember. More and more, the vague dizziness is solidifying into a distinct _nothing_ , blurry memories fading into a vague sense that maybe something happened. "I forgot what I was saying. And what you were saying. And why we were saying it."

He rubs his eyes and groans. "I feel sick, too. I think you messed up with the-- with the thing you did. I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

"I--" Ben starts, then stops himself. He hesitates for a moment, glancing away, and Poe thinks for a panicked second that he's still too mad to help and he's not going to tell him what just happened.

But then Ben smiles apologetically at him and says:

"Yeah. Um. One of your friends, I think you said her name was Jess? She came in and wanted to talk to you, and I... told her to go away. And you got mad at me because it was rude, and I got mad at you for getting mad at me, and then you were shouting a lot so I... used a Jedi mind trick Luke taught me to try to calm you down."

That clicks. It feels true. Ben looks at him almost expectantly, holding his breath-- worried he'll be mad, maybe, Poe thinks. Poe exhales a sigh of relief at knowing, even if he can't quite remember, and says, "Sorry. This is weird."

Ben's eyebrows twitch and something flickers over his face for just a second. Relief, Poe decides. "It's okay. I shouldn't have tried to do something with your head that I've never even practiced before," Ben says. It's not an apology, but it's as close as Ben ever gets with sincerity.

"Yeah. Please don't do that again. I feel really sick," Poe says. He rubs his temple and grimaces. "And I don't like the thought of anybody messing with my head, even if it's you."

Ben blinks a few times and, hesitantly, smiles. "Yeah. Of course."

"No more mind tricks, seriously, _ever._ Even if I'm freaking out," Poe gives him a hard serious look. "You promise?"

"I promise," Ben says firmly, and looks strangely like he's trying hard not to laugh.

 

***

 

"Hey, Poe," Jess says, in a way that suggests she has something to say. Poe looks up from the book he's reading alongside his dinner and raises his eyebrows; his mouth is too full to really talk properly. Her chin is propped up on her hand, her dark eyes narrowed, her shoulders set: she looks like she has Something To Say.

She says, slowly, like she's choosing her words carefully, "I know Ben's gonna be around next week, but I really think Snap is gonna need your company. Can you make sure you make time for him?"

Snap's long-distance girlfriend dumped him about a week ago; he's still devastated, and they've all been trying to spend as much time with him as they can. Poe wrinkles his eyebrows and swallows his mouthful of food. "Of course. I always do. I wasn't gonna-- of course I'm gonna make time for him, why would you even ask me that?"

"Well... I mean..." Jess glances at Kare, who brushes a bit of blond hair out of her eyes and nods at her to continue. "Every time Ben's in town, you kind of... only spend time with him."

Poe scoffs. "I do not!"

"No, you really do," Kare says firmly. She points at him with her fork. "You ditch everybody and hang out with him the whole time he's here and nobody sees you except at class or training."

"That's not-- I mean, I don't--" Poe tries to think of a single time he's hung out with his friends and Ben at the same time, and nothing comes to mind. Nothing recent, anyway: when they were really small and Ben trailed after him everywhere, that was different. Kare and Jess give him mirrored unimpressed looks, and he frowns. "He's my best friend and I don't see him that often, so I spend a lot of time with him, I guess."

"Not _a lot_. You spend _all_ your time with him," Jess insists. "You skip class a bunch, too. Have you really not noticed? Ben monopolizes your time like _crazy._ "

"While we're on the subject," Kare says, "Is that, like... actually something you enjoy doing?"

"What? Of course, I love spending time with him, he's pretty much the most important person in my life," Poe says. He feels peculiarly put on the spot: Jess and Kare seem to have some kind of shared opinion on Ben that he doesn't know about, and it makes him feel defensive. "Again: why would you even ask me that?"

"He's mean," Kare says flatly.

"He's not--" Poe cuts himself off and clicks his tongue irritably. Ben _is_ mean, but he's not _mean-_ mean. Describing him as _mean_ in that tone feels very wrong. It's not an accurate description. To say that he's just mean sweeps aside all the times Ben's been there for Poe to lean on-- grumbly and prickly and sarcastic, sure, but _there._

Struggling between not wanting to flat-out lie and still wanting to defend Ben from accusations he thinks are unfair, he settles on saying, "He's different when you know him."

Jessika and Kare look thoroughly unconvinced. He ruffles his own hair, frustrated. "Guys, come on. He's just a kid," he says. "He's just-- he's just _awkward,_ he's never known how to talk to people."

They sigh, and Jess says, "Whatever you say, Poe," and they change the subject.

It doesn't occur to him to think they might be worried about him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's the chapter the rape/non-con warning is for, jsyk

Ben's seventeen and Poe is nineteen and he hasn't seen him in person in about three years. They don't talk that often, even though Ben's always promising to call more, and Poe has missed him something fierce. Ben's barely a step off Luke's ship when Poe's barrelling into him. "Ben, you enormous lanky ghoul!" he shouts, and yanks him into a too-tight hug. Ben staggers, air knocked out of his lungs, and drops the bag he was holding.

Ben is much taller than him, now. He grew up tall and wiry, and he's still growing. Poe hasn't grown in a year; he thinks he might be stuck where he is, shorter than Ben forever. Poe lifts him up off the ground and spins him around anyway. Ben yelps, startled and annoyed, and grabs at Poe's back. "Put me down, you sweaty slime-eater!"

His voice is deeper than Poe remembers, and he realizes it's been at least a year since they've talked at all. He spins Ben around once more while Ben thrashes, laughing. Just the once, though, and then he puts Ben down again. "Look at you, you're huge!"

Ben snorts. "Maybe you've just shrunk."

Beaming so hard it almost hurts, Poe presses his face against Ben's shoulder and curls his fingers slightly in the familiar fabric of his black cloak. "I missed you, Benobi," he says warmly.

The annoyed tension in Ben's shoulders eases a little bit. "Missed you, too, Dameron," he grumbles, reluctant and embarrassed. He shoves at Poe's shoulder. "Now get off, your sentimentality makes me nauseous."

Poe holds him for another long moment before pushing him away, still grinning ear to ear. Han and Leia and Chewbacca are next, ruffling his hair and marvelling at how tall he's gotten, and Ben grumbles at them all, batting their hands away as much as he can, face screwed up like the whole affair is sort of gross.

 

When Poe carries his bag to their room-- at his insistence, despite Ben's griping-- the first thing Ben says, dryly, is, "We're a little old to still be sharing a bed, don't you think?"

They are, really, but Poe still feels a little twinge of hurt that Ben would bring it up. He plays it off with a casual shrug and says, "I'll take the floor if you want," like it's not a big deal. He knows he's supposed to have grown out of it, by now, and he doesn't really want Ben to make fun of him, so he tries to look cool and not bothered.

The immediacy of Ben's response, though, is reassuring. "Don't." He clears his throat after, like he's just had an embarrassing outburst of emotion, and Poe grins at him.

Frowning, Ben combs his hands through his hair and sits down on the bed. "I just think it's funny mother hasn't put in a second bed," he says, and looks around.

The room is different, now. It's Poe's, now, much more than it's Ben's. Ben's things have been packed away, moved into boxes in storage. There's still pieces of him scattered around, models and posters and knickknacks, but not as many as there used to be. Poe's filled it with his things, cluttered it up with his clothes and framed pictures of friends and scraps of metal and droid parts.

Seeing Ben sitting on the bed again after so long makes Poe feel a twinge of guilt. It's supposed to be Ben's room, after all, but he looks as out of place here as he does everywhere else. He looks too big for it. He looks more like a Jedi than he used to, now that his layers aren't so comically large on him.

"So," Poe says. "How's being a Jedi?"

Ben's expression darkens. He scowls at the wall, and Poe wonders how he could still hate it so much after so much time. Poe leans against the desk, hands in his pockets, ready to hear the usual griping, but it doesn't come. Instead, Ben says, "I don't want to talk about it."

"No? Why not?"

"I'm sick of everything always being about _being a Jedi_ ," Ben says. His dark eyes are still wandering around the room, not looking at him. That bothers Poe more than he thinks it should. "It's exhausting."

The longer Ben avoids looking right at him, the more aggravating it gets. _Look at me,_ Poe screams inside his head. _Look at me. Look at me._

But Ben doesn't. He looks at his hands, or the floor, or the ceiling or the walls or anything but Poe. Like he's invisible. Poe clears his throat-- Ben's expression doesn't flicker.

He says, "Well, what do you want to talk about?" and Ben lies on his back on the bed.

It's not like he's _avoiding_ looking at him-- why would he be? It's just that Poe is the only thing in the room Ben doesn't seem to find interesting. "I don't know. I could complain about Luke's other students. They're all really annoying," Ben says, inspecting his fingernails.

"Sure, whatever you want," Poe says.

So they talk about the other students-- mostly, in actuality, Ben talks. Ben says he hates them all, but Poe's not convinced that's true, since it sounds to him like they're actually his friends-- he doesn't say that, though, just grins and nods along with Ben's sprawling aggravated stories of every single annoying thing they've done in the last four years.

 

Something wakes him up in the middle of the night-- he's not sure what. Maybe just Ben shifting next to him. It's late, pitch black, and Ben is still awake, staring up at the soft glowing stars all over the ceiling.

"What're you doing still up?" Poe asks, shifting onto his side and propping up his head on his hand. His voice is thick and mumbly with sleep. "Should I take the floor after all?"

"No," Ben says. He puts his arm over his eyes and sighs. "I just can't sleep sometimes."

"Have you tried meditating?" Poe asks, only half sarcastic, and Ben smacks him lightly on the shoulder. He exhales a tired laugh, and he's pretty sure he sees Ben's mouth twitch into a reluctant smile for a second.

They lie there in silence for a moment. Poe looks at Ben; Ben does not look at him. He stares up at the ceiling like he's looking straight through it, at something very far away. The pale blueish light from the stars on the ceiling makes his pale skin seem to glow. _Like the moon,_ Poe thinks sleepily. _Or a dead body._

He feels a sudden urge to reach out and touch his face. Ben looks so much like a ghost, and feels so detached and distant, even though he's right next to him and their legs are touching and Poe can feel his body heat-- he wants to touch him, to make sure he's real.

"I hear you're flying missions, now. You're a real Resistance pilot," Ben says.

He sounds a little bit bitter, so Poe just says, "Yeah."

"Luke never lets me go anywhere. He still treats me like I'm a little kid. I'm still an _apprentice._ I'm sick of it," Ben says. Definitely bitter. "I want to go places. I want to be _doing_ things! All I do is sit around and meditate and get lectured. I don't even get to fly at all."

Poe scratches behind his ear and blinks slowly, mulling this over. It's still baffling to him that Ben could be so resentful. To be a Jedi... he would give anything. He would even give up flying, if it meant he could do half of what Ben can do.

"He lets you come here," he says. "That's something."

Ben whips his arm off his face and hits the bed, making a frustrated noise in his throat. "I mean I want to go-- I want to go all over! I want to get out of the fucking Outer Rim, I want to see what it's like in a real city, I want to--" He presses his fists over his eyes (nearly elbowing Poe in the face in the process) and groans. "I'm so fucking jealous, I can't stand it, Poe. I want to strangle you sometimes."

"Maybe you could come with me on a mission while you're here."

"What, as your co-pilot?" Ben curls his lip in disgust and he finally looks at Poe-- to glare at him. Still, it's better than feeling like a ghost. "I hate you."

"Aw, Ben," Poe grins and grabs Ben's shoulder, pulling him into a smothering hug. "C'mere, you little shit."

"Ugh! Get off, Poe-- you-- you--" Ben tries to wriggle out of his grip, sputtering and bristling. He's properly flustered. "You-- scruffy-lookin'-- nerf-herder!"

Poe laughs and ruffles Ben's hair. " _Who's_ scruffy-lookin'?"

"You!" Ben intensifies his annoyed thrashing. "Don't think I won't kick your ass, Dameron!"

"I'd like to see you try, you skinny li'l--"

Ben headbutts him hard in the face, cracking their foreheads together, and tries to dramatically thrash out of Poe's arms. Instead, they both fall off the bed; it's decidedly too small for the two of them and Ben's thrashing. Poe yelps when his head cracks against the hardwood, and Ben hisses in a sharp pained breath.

The headbutt and the fall seem to knock the fight out of him; he rolls off Poe and lies on his back again, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. "I think that hurt my head more than it hurt yours," Ben mutters. Poe's head only hurts a little-- more from the fall than from Ben.

"Yeah," Poe says. "Maybe you should get a helmet, baby-brain."

"Maybe _you_ should be less obnoxious," Ben mutters.

"Sorry," Poe says automatically, then presses his lips together in a small frown. He wasn't actually the one being obnoxious. He didn't need to apologize. Too late to take it back, though.

He turns his head and stares at Ben's sharp profile. Even in the dark, he can tell Ben is scowling, his jaw set in the stubborn clench he inherited from General Organa. Even when he's scowling, there's something entrancing about Ben's face. It's difficult to look away.

Ben isn't pretty, Poe thinks. Not exactly. He's strangely angular, and his face is sort of long. Looking at his glittering dark eyes is like looking into water so dark it's opaque; he's drawn in, fascinated and irrationally terrified of what might be hiding there.

He's something like pretty, though. Poe's breath hitches in his throat. Ben is so close and still so far away, staring into the distance, and Poe desperately wants to bring him back.

"Do you actually hate being a Jedi?" he asks, in the hopes that breaking the silence will distract him from how much he wants to touch Ben's face.

Ben unclenches his jaw and exhales an aggravated huff of air. "I don't know," he says, and combs both hands through his hair. "Maybe. I don't hate it all the time, but I hate it a lot of the time."

He's still scowling, though. Concern tugs at the corners of Poe's mouth. "It seems like you hate a lot of things a lot of the time," he says.

Ben shrugs. "I don't think I hate things any more than anybody else hates things. Like-- everybody hates things."

"I don't really hate anything or anybody," Poe says. "Besides the First Order, I guess. And the Dark Side and whatever. But nothing... you know."

"Don't be stupid, of course you hate stuff. Everybody does. You hate me sometimes."

"No, I don't," Poe says immediately. "I couldn't ever hate you, even if I tried. You're my best friend."

Ben turns his head and looks at him, then, smile crooked and almost sarcastic. He reaches out, and touches Poe's cheek with the backs of his fingers. It's a strange gesture, intimate yet still oddly distancing. Poe goes very still, heart fluttering in his chest. It feels like moving at all will shatter the moment, and Poe wants to hold onto it. Actual affection from Ben is unusual, even just a noncommittal scrap.

"You're so stupid," Ben says fondly, and flicks Poe's cheek with his fingernails.

"Hey, now," Poe says, but it doesn't really bother him that much. He's just glad Ben's mood is improved. No matter how normal it's gotten for Ben to be all distant and brooding, he still doesn't like it. Poe's never really been able to figure out a surefire way to cheer Ben up; he's too unpredictable.

 

***

 

He's twenty years old and he is sick of his boyfriend.

There's no good reason for this: his boyfriend is nice, and beautiful, and loves him very much. They never fight. They get along really well. Everything is great, and it sets Poe's teeth on edge. It was nice for the first month or so, but now he's starting to feel twitchy and uncomfortable every time they hang out and his boyfriend starts being nice.

It's like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, like somewhere in his head he thinks it's all just a big ruse. It feels like a trick that he's waiting for him to get bored with. It feels fake. No one could really be just _nice_ , all the time. No one could actually never have any problems.

"I don't know what my problem is," he says to Ben. The tightknit social circles at the base make asking for advice from anyone there difficult. He and Ben talk more often, now, when Ben's away. Ben doesn't call, but he always picks up when Poe does.

He doesn't tell Ben that every time he kisses his boyfriend he thinks about him. He doesn't need to know that part. He also doesn't say that whenever he sleeps in the same bed as his boyfriend, he wakes up expecting to see Ben lying there with him and he always feels disoriented and disappointed for a moment.

"It sounds like he's boring," Ben says. He's floating in the air on the other side of the video call, lying on his back on nothing at all and tossing a small wooden ball in the air. "People who are nice all the time are boring. Dump him and date someone with a real personality."

"He has a personality," Poe protests.

Ben snorts. "Name a personality trait he has besides _nice._ "

"He's-- he's really supportive, and enthusiastic about things, and--"

"Those are all just other words for nice," Ben says, cutting him off. Poe's not sure that's actually true, but he has to admit that Ben's probably right. His boyfriend isn't terribly interesting. "Get rid of him."

"I can't just dump him for no good reason. It's not fair," Poe says. "It would be mean."

"I think you not wanting to date him is a pretty good reason," Ben says. He turns his ball over in his hands, gazing up at the ceiling. He's barely had even a single facial expression for the entirety of this conversation; Poe knows he finds this kind of thing boring, but there's not really anyone else he can talk to about it.

"But--"

"I don't really get why you called me asking for advice if you don't actually want me to give you advice," Ben says. He's definitely annoyed. Poe's shoulders tense.

"Sorry."

"Whatever," Ben mutters. "We both know you want to break up with him, so just _do it_."

He tosses his ball up in the air and holds it there with a flick of his wrist.

Something stings behind Poe's eyes-- staring at the vid screen for this long is bad for him, he thinks. He blinks a few times. Ben is right. "I know I want to break up with him," he sighs. Because he's boring. That's not a good reason, but it is a reason. He feels guilty about it, but he thinks breaking up with him now would probably be better than stringing him along any longer. Probably. He groans and rubs his eyes. "I should just do it."

The corner of Ben's mouth twitches into a tiny smile and he lets his ball drop back into the palm of his hand. "Don't be so whiny about it, Dameron. You got yourself into this mess, now you have to be a grown-up and get yourself out of it. Next time, date somebody you're actually interested in."

"I was interested in him," Poe says.

Ben turns to look at him, then, all skeptical raised eyebrows. "If that were the case, you wouldn't have _lost_ interest in him," he says. Poe's not really sure how that follows, but... "Be real, now. You only ever started dating him because you would have felt bad saying no."

That's not really how it happened at all.

He liked him. They liked each other. They got along great. He's beautiful and kind and nice to be around. It's just that--

"You thought he was boring and you talked yourself into thinking you liked him because you wanted him to be happy," Ben says.

He's right.

Is he right?

He's definitely right. Poe just didn't realize it before now. Horrified with himself, he says, "I thought he was boring. I talked myself into thinking I liked him because I wanted him to be happy."

Guilt hits him like a punch in the stomach. It was cruel of him to do this to someone. It's difficult to accept that he's been that horrible, but he has to. It's true, after all. Ben spins his ball in his hands and yawns. "Do you feel bad?" he asks.

"Of course I feel bad," Poe says. Not just emotionally, actually. The guilt-- or the screen-- is making his head hurt. "Ugh, how am I going to do this without screwing everything up? I can't just tell him I think he's boring, but I have to tell him _something_."

Ben inspects his fingernails.

"Tell him you like someone else better," he says.

Poe blinks and tries not to look like he's keeping a secret or like there's anything he hopes Ben doesn't know about. He's never been good at keeping secrets from Ben; Ben has a knack for getting under his skin and pulling them all out of him.

This one is the only one he's ever _really_ wanted to keep from Ben, though. That's the thing about all that Jedi stuff, Ben always says: it can't make you do anything you really don't want to do, and they can't know anything you really don't want them to know.

 

***

 

He wakes up with a shudder, the ghost of lips and hands on his too-warm skin.

If there were a worse time to have a sex dream about Ben, he can't think of it. He supposes if Ben were _awake_ , that would be worse, but that's the only thing. They can't sleep in the same bed without touching-- not that they ever did, but now that they're twenty-one and nineteen, it's unavoidable. The heat of Ben's body pressed against his back feels much too warm. It almost burns, as does the fact that he's not actually touching him.

Ben rolls over, and it turns out this _is_ the worst-case scenario. He's awake. Even though he got in so late, even though he was the one who said he was tired and wanted to go to bed-- probably, Poe thinks, he just didn't want to talk to Leia. Poe's been busy every day with flying, and he was exhausted enough that he fell asleep as soon as he got into bed.

He wishes he was still asleep now. He stays still on his side and keeps his face buried in the pillow and tries not to seem awake.

"Hey," Ben says, mouth pressed right up against the back of his neck. Poe can feel his breath on his skin; he twitches. Ben is so close, and he _wants,_ and Ben murmurs, "I know you're awake."

"Shut up," Poe mumbles into the pillow, curling in on himself. He feels intensely self-conscious in a way he doesn't ever around anyone else. "'m trying to get back to sleep."

"No you're not, you're waiting for me to go back to sleep," Ben's lips brush over his skin as he speaks, this time, sending shivers down Poe's spine that he tries desperately to pretend aren't happening. "You should know by now, Poe, I know you best out of anybody."

Poe grumbles, "You do not."

"Do so. For example, I know you want to fuck me," Ben says, and Poe's stomach drops. Before he can react-- stutter out a protest, maybe, or run away-- Ben is on top of him, pinning Poe flat on his back, and Poe's erection in his loose sleep pants is painfully obvious. Ben smirks down at him, hair rumpled, shirtless and pale and painfully beautiful.

Ben's hands press heavy on his shoulders. Terror presses heavier. It's the terror that holds him in place more than Ben, really. "I don't," Poe croaks. It's probably the most obvious lie he's ever told in his life, but what else can he do? His heart beats so fast it feels like he's about to drop dead.

Eyes glittering down at him, Ben cocks his head to the side and drawls, "Isn't that kind of _fucked?_ I thought we were supposed to be brothers. That's what everybody thinks, right?"

Poe can't breathe or move. He's terrified and guilty and embarrassed and he can't even think straight. Everything's a whirling haze of surreal panic. "I-- it's--" He stutters over a few options, then what falls out of his mouth is hopelessly pathetic: "We're not really brothers, though."

"That's all you have to say for yourself?" Ben laughs. The sound is sharp and mean; it's that cackle he only has when Poe gets hurt in some way that makes him look like a huge idiot. "You're going to hurt my feelings, Poe. You should try to be more sensitive."

He grabs a fistful of Poe's hair and pulls. It stings. Twisting his hand in Poe's hair a little bit, Ben leans down close and grins toothily at him. "So, how long have you wanted to fuck me?" he asks, voice low and teasing and insistent. "When'd it start? When I was sixteen? Fourteen, maybe?"

"Wh-- no!" Flustered, Poe flushes a deep red and insists, "It's not like that!"

Ben palms his erection through his pants-- just the pressure is enough to send an uncomfortable spark up his spine. His face is so close. His voice is so low. "It sure seems like that to me," Ben says. Feigning an exaggerated air of shock and betrayal, he says, " _All these years_ sleeping in the same bed, you've been fantasizing about getting your leg over. How _depraved._ "

He's joking, maybe, but Poe can't really tell. He's half-delirious with panic. "I wasn't!"

Ben clicks his tongue and asks, "How many times did you jack off while I was sleeping?"

" _Never_ , it's not-- I would never do that!"

Ben releases his hair, sits up, and waves his hand over Poe's face. Everything blurs, smeared with the motion of his hand. Poe shudders in a breath, suddenly unable to see much of anything. " _Tell the truth._ "

His voice is too deep, vibrating in Poe's bones, and everything blurs. Weight presses down on his entire body. He wanted to bury his face in his arms, curl into a ball and die, but he can't move. The air thins. Everything aches. Thoughts slip out of his grasp as the world turns into a blur of strange humming pain.

"How many times, Poe?"

The word is out of his mouth before he can stop it. He can't think to stop it. "Once."

" _When?_ "

The pressure mounts. He feels his entire body being crushed. It hurts in a way he's never felt before-- it didn't hurt this much that last time, when they were kids. Poe chokes, trying to bite it back, but the answer comes out of his mouth anyway: "The last time you were here."

Ben laughs again, then presses both of his hands flat on either side of Poe's head, grinning down at him. "Did you cum on me?"

From the tips of Ben's fingers a sharper thinner pain needles into his brain. He can't move or breathe. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Resistance is impossible. The order still vibrates in his bones: _tell the truth, tell the truth._

The humiliation burns almost as much as the pain in his head, but he cannot stop himself answering. He has to. "Yes."

"On purpose?"

He recoils at just the thought. " _No_."

"Still gross." Ben digs his fingernails into Poe's scalp and the pain inside his skull intensifies. "Tell me what you thought about when you did it."

"Nghh-- Ben, st-sto-op--"

"No. I'm having fun," Ben says cheerfully. He definitely looks like he's having fun. His eyes are brighter than Poe has seen them in a long time. "Now tell me, or I'm gonna get mad."

Deliriously, feeling words sticking in his throat like shards of glass, Poe thinks that this couldn't actually get any more painful. How could Ben get any more mad at him than he already is? How could this get worse?

It takes all the strength he has not to babble out his answer. He can feel it clamoring in his head, drowning out almost everything else. "You promised you wouldn't-- you wouldn't do this," he croaks.

"You don't really want me to stop, though."

Poe's eyes flutter shut. It's impossible not to crack, with his bones vibrating the way they are and all the pressure in the galaxy crushing down on him like he's been thrown into the vacuum of space. Except, it's not _cracking,_ it's just that Ben knows him better than anyone else. It's just that Ben can see who he actually is and what he actually wants. "I don't really want you to stop," he echoes, and when he says it everything feels a little less painful.

"Uh-huh," Ben breathes, and brushes his thumbs over Poe's temples. "So, Poe, tell me what you've been fantasizing about when you're jacking off thinking about me."

Poe babbles, words tumbling out of his mouth too fast and too desperate and too explicit-- nothing he would ever in a million years say, except that of course he would because otherwise why would he be saying them? "You-- your skin slick with sweat and your breath on my skin and your nails digging into my back I want to fuck you so bad Ben you're so beautiful I want to see you flushed and breathless and covered in my cum I want to fuck you so hard you never think about anyone else--"

Ben kisses him hungrily, cutting him off-- this is a mind-numbing relief. He sort of collapses on top of him, bodies pressed flush together. He's hard, too. Ben rocks his hips down and suddenly Poe can move again. He moans and clutches Ben close and kisses him back, desperate for _more._ His head is spinning, his ears ringing, but all he can think about is how bad he wants Ben right now.

"Ben, please," he gasps, his voice a pathetic whine, and Ben bites at his lower lip.

"You're so gross," Ben murmurs, staring down into his eyes. His cheeks are ever so slightly flushed, his lips shiny wet. "I'll let you fuck me, but only because I feel bad for you."

"I'm sorry," he says desperately. "I'm sorry, I didn't want you to-- I didn't want--"

Ben laughs again and sits up, sticks out his hand. Poe's lube flies into his palm. "You're so pathetic."

His entire body is still buzzing and uncomfortable and he can't think. Can't figure out what Ben wants. Can't tell what he's doing. Ben grinds the heel of his palm against Poe's forehead, leaning part of his weight onto him, and yanks down his pajama pants with his other hand. "You gonna _cry,_ Dameron?"

He thinks he might. The ache in his head intensifies again and a dizzying swirl of color and noise accompanies a surge of heat and bitter hungry desire like nothing he's ever felt before. Everything spins and his stomach lurches, so he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Ben," he mumbles. "What are you doing?"

He hears the click of the lube cap. "Messing with your head," Ben says. His voice is low and breathy and eager when he asks, "Does it hurt?"

"Yeah, it. Hurts. A lot. Actually," Poe grinds out, and Ben inhales sharply. "Ben. Please. I don't know what you want." His voice cracks and Ben exhales a low laugh. The sound is rough and stuttering-- aroused, but nowhere near the level of disastrously aroused as Poe. The pain throbbing through Poe's body does not relent. He can't tell if it's Ben's fault, or if it's embarrassment, or what-- he can't think of any other explanations, but he also can't think of anything at all.

Ben makes a soft pleased noise and Poe opens his eyes. On top of him, Ben's fingering himself, fingers slicked up with lube, panting. Poe is delirious and shuddering.

"I can't breathe," he says. He feels lightheaded. "Ben--"

"Shut up," Ben mumbles. His cheeks are flushed, now, his breathing unsteady. "Gonna-- hnnh-- give you what you wanted."

Ben braces himself, grips the base of Poe's cock, and eases down onto him. The sensation is too much; Poe moans helplessly, twisting his hands in the sheets underneath him as he arches up off the bed. "Oh, fuck, _oh, fuck!_ "

A shiver travels up Ben's body and he giggles, shoulders up, eyes fluttering shut. "You're so desperate," he breathes, rocking his hips. Words escape him entirely; Poe just makes a broken helpless noise. "Who gets this desperate for their little brother?"

"You're not my brother, we're not-- like that," Poe gasps out. He needs to move, but he can't. Ben grabs his wrists and puts Poe's hands on his bare thighs, then thrusts against him. Poe chokes and bites down hard on his lower lip. The contrast between how much Ben seems to hate him right now and the fact that they're having sex is deeply strange. He doesn't know what to do. His head hurts too much.

"Are we not? I'm pretty sure you've always been part of my family," Ben says, voice getting rapidly more ragged and heavy with arousal. "You should feel bad, you're such a freak."

"I'm sorry," Poe says again. He doesn't know what else to say. He feels awful.

"Ugh, shut up," Ben groans. The ache in Poe's head turns to a keening whine, and Poe chokes again. "I'm just teasing, don't be so pathetic."

He can't speak.

"Are you this messy when you fuck other boys, or just for me?" Ben starts to move, blessedly, and Poe melts. He moans and grips Ben's thighs hard enough to bruise his death-pale skin and bucks his hips up.

"Just you," he pants, and Ben actually shudders.

"Just me," he whispers.

When Ben actually finally settles into a rhythm, he hunches over Poe's body and holds Poe's mouth open with his long fingers, keeping Poe from biting back any of the loud noises he's making. "Imagine if mom heard you," Ben pants, and panic surges through Poe's chest because he didn't even think about that. Throat working, Poe tries to close his mouth and shut himself up, and Ben doesn't let him. "Don't do that. I like the noises you're making, big brother. You sound good."

"Don't--"

"Don't call you _big brother?_ " Ben snickers breathlessly. "But it's _funny_. I could say anything and you'll still cum inside me. You're so close already."

He is close. He's inching closer, as Ben keeps moving, and Poe can't make words enough to argue. "Ah, ah, _ah--_ "

It's frustrating, how Ben isn't nearly so incoherent. Poe really wishes he would stop talking. He's really mean. It's sort of nasty, and it's also further nasty that it isn't bothering Poe as much as it maybe ought to. Ben presses his mouth close to Poe's ear and purrs, "Who else in my family do you jack off to? Uncle Luke?"

Poe groans. "Ben, _stop_."

Ben ducks his head, hair brushing against Poe's face, and laughs. "I can feel you're close," he says, and Poe whines wordlessly. "I could cut your throat open and watch you bleed out and you'd still fucking cum for me, you're such a desperate slut."

Poe wishes desperately that Ben was wrong, but he knows he's not. More than that, he wishes that mental image didn't stick _,_ wishes he could put away the thought of Ben cutting him open, how much it would hurt, how much blood there would be.

"Oh, oh fuck--"

Ben laughs-- less of a cackle, now, and more a genuinely delighted giggle. He props himself up again and gazes heavy-lidded down at Poe, wraps his hand around his cock, and starts lazily jerking himself off. "Is that really not worse than thinking about doing it with Luke? That one got more of a reaction. I liked that better. Think about that again."

"Augh, Ben, stop it!" Of course, now he can't get _that_ mental image out of his head. "Oh, gross, why would you do that?"

"Your _face,_ " Ben grins down at him. "Do you feel sick? Does it hurt?"

"Ben!"

"What kinda kinky stuff do you think he's into?"

He thrusts his hips and Poe's pushed over the edge, moaning, "You're so-- fucking-- _weird!_ "

His entire body arches up off the floor, nails digging hard into Ben's thighs. The orgasm is more strange than satisfying, being pained and uncomfortable and accompanied by Ben's peals of delighted laughter. He does feel, more than anything, enormously relieved when he collapses again. The pressure in his head is gone, the pain fading. His ears are ringing, and his skin is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and he struggles to catch his breath, but the worst part seems to be over.

Coherent thought still mostly eludes him. It's difficult to think clearly, and there's a strange tangle of emotion in his chest. He decides to deal with it later, and try to enjoy the thing he wanted in the mean time.

He wanted this, after all. This is what he wanted.

(Is it?)

It's what he wanted. The pain is gone, but there's still a heavy fog clouding up his brain. It's difficult to think about much of anything, but he knows that this is what he wanted. That's just about all he knows. He tries to catch his breath, but he can't.

Distant anger nudges at the edge of his consciousness. Distant pain, distant uncertainty-- but it's quiet, and he can't deal with it now, and _shut up, you don't actually want me to stop, shut up._

Ben looks rather pleased with himself, which is a little bit annoying. Annoyance filters in through the fog just fine. Poe grabs Ben's hips and surges up suddenly, taking Ben by surprise. He yelps, startled, and he grabs hold of Poe's hair with both hands as his back hits the floor.

"Your turn," Poe says.

Being able to move feels good-- as he moves, the ache and the hum of whatever Ben did to him fades from his limbs. He feels clear again, finally. He wraps his fingers around Ben's dick and starts jacking him off, fast and rough, teeth scraping over the skin of his neck.

Ben pulls on his hair-- this time, not out of spite or because he's trying to hurt him, but just because he seems to need something to hang on to.

"Wait, Poe," Ben says. Poe waits. For the first time, Poe hears a hint of actual genuine emotion besides obnoxious smug sadism in his voice: he sounds nervous, ever so slightly. There's a tension in the way he clings to Poe's hair that wasn't there before, and an unusual uncertainty in his voice. "Are you mad at me?"

"I'm _exasperated_ , but I wouldn't say I'm _mad,_ " Poe says. He rubs his thumb against the head of Ben's dick and Ben shudders up against him with a helpless gasp. Poe shifts up so he can look at him. Ben's face is flushed, his eyes unfocused.

He's beautiful, and Poe loves him, and he can't help smiling. That's easier; the words aren't strained, and he melts easily into fond annoyance. It's the path of least resistance. It doesn't hurt. It's not foggy, it's not vague or uncertain: it's familiar and warm and real.

Poe sighs and ruffles Ben's hair and says, "You know I can never stay mad at you, Benobi."

The words come out clear; his voice doesn't shake at all.

Ben wrinkles his nose and jabs a finger at Poe's face. "If you call me that again, I'll--" Poe cuts him off with a kiss. He can feel Ben's precum on his palm, the throb of his veins. Ben's close. "Mmmgh."

Underneath him, Ben dissolves as Poe's quick hand brings him to a shuddering finish. Poe kisses him through it, Ben's moaning muffled by his mouth. Ben leaves long scratches on his arms and back with his fingernails.

When he's done, Ben shoves his face away indignantly and tries to push him off. "Poe, get off, you weirdo."

Poe laughs, and kisses his neck instead. "No, this is your punishment for being mean," he says. "You can't escape!"

Ben groans and pushes his face away again. Then Ben looks up at him, dark eyes unreadable and depthless. A small chill crawls down his spine; it feels sharp, cutting through the warm strange fog that's clouding up his head.

Ben says, "You liked it, though. It's not mean if you liked it, right?"

Something about that feels-- off? There's still echoes of pain in his muscles, a dull ache in the back of his head. He can't really think that hard about... anything. He can't really think of an argument, though. He liked it, after all. Ben wasn't being mean because he hates him; he was just doing that thing he always does. Just playing.

"Right," Poe says. He feels sort of lightheaded. Dizzy. Did he like it? Was this what he wanted? It seems to him that, thinking about the things that just happened, maybe he didn't. When he stops trying so hard to remember it, everything falls into place, but if he _tries..._ it's like kicking up clouds of sand in water. If he stands very still, everything is crystal clear, but as soon as he moves the water is fogged up and muddied and it's impossible to see anything.

Did he like it...? It hurt. Ben did that on purpose. He _laughed_. Why would he do that? Is he remembering it wrong? Why would Ben do something like that?

The dull aching in his head gets worse the more he tries to concentrate. He wobbles and squeezes his eyes shut. "Ugh, my head..."

The ache, the fog, the dizziness-- it's unpleasant, but familiar. It was like this last time Ben used the Force to mess with his head.

He inhales sharply and opens his eyes. "Ben," he says.

 _I promise_ , he said, but of course that didn't mean anything, of course it didn't-- but Ben would never _lie_ to him, surely, because why would he, but: _I promise,_ is what he said then, and, _because I can_  is what he said just now. His stomach lurches.

He thinks he sees Ben's eyes widen. He thinks he sees panic flicker over his face. He thinks he sees no such thing, because why would he? Ben's smiling, now, breathless and guileless, and he says, "You look pale. I'll get you a glass of water."

"Uh," Poe says. "Sure. Thanks."

He pushes Poe off easily-- Poe's sort of frozen and isn't sure he wants to be anywhere near Ben anyway. Ben gets up and stretches his arms over his head before tugging his pants back on and shuffling out of the room, leaving Poe sitting on the floor feeling stupid and confused. Ben isn't acting like there's anything wrong-- not guilty, not panicky, not suspicious in any way. Why is he so _calm?_

Poe presses his fingers against his temples, hoping to ease the throbbing ache in his head a little bit. If Ben had actually done something as bad as he sort of feels like maybe he did, even he would feel bad.

It must be fine. It has to be fine. The things he thinks he remembers happening are things that couldn't possibly have happened. Ben wouldn't hurt him like that. He would have to hate him, and Ben doesn't hate him.

But he remembers, quite distinctly, Ben's toothy grin, the way he said _I could cut your throat_ _open and watch you bleed out._ He remembers that happening, but remembering makes his skin crawl, makes his stomach twist--

He must be remembering wrong.

Ben would have to hate him, and he doesn't.                                

Ben comes back with a cup of water in hand, and crouches in front of Poe when he hands it over. His hand is shaking, he realizes, when he brings the cup of water to his lips. "You look awful," Ben says, and cocks his head slightly to the side. "What's wrong?"

Poe forces himself to smile, wishes it didn't feel so strained, and grips the cup so hard his knuckles go pale. "Did you use the Force on me?" he asks. Saying it out loud feels strangely difficult, like he has to bully himself into speaking.

Ben goes very still.

"Of course not. I promised I wouldn't, didn't I?" Ben sounds offended. (Defensive?) "I don't understand why you would ask me that."

"My head feels scrambled like it did last time. And you-- didn't you say you did?"

Ben's hand twitches up and he curls his fingers in his hair, pushing it away from his face. Something about the movement is distracting; Poe's eyes fix for a second on his fingers. "You're just tired," Ben says. "You're tired and confused. Drink your water and then go back to sleep."

He _is_ tired. Exhausted, actually. "But..."

Ben's face twitches into an irritated frown. " _Sleep,_ " he says, and waves his hand at Poe's face.


	3. Chapter 3

Poe wakes up in bed, at dawn, and hits his knee on the wall.

He's dimly half-aware of Ben getting up and out of bed, dimly aware of him yawning, dimly aware of Ben's soft footsteps. He doesn't remember getting into bed, or falling asleep. He must have been more tired than he thought. He's still tired now. He also feels like he might puke. The early morning light is dim, but it still hurts when he opens his eyes. It's a little bit like being hungover.

"Morning," Ben says.

Poe rolls over with a soft groan, and squints at him. Ben looks about as relaxed as he ever looks, hands resting in his lap, back straight, hair pulled back. There's nothing in his body language or his face to suggest that anything is weird. Or different at all. "Morning," Poe mumbles.

Ben takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, and slowly rises above the floor until he's floating above a foot off the ground. For just a moment, he's quiet-- then he flicks his tongue out over his lips and asks, "Feeling better?"

Poe's pretty sure Ben hasn't asked him about how he's feeling in more than a decade. Probably not since his mother died. Responding to that with wild baseless accusations of sinister intent seems like a pretty rotten way to start the morning; he tells himself he should keep his overreactions to himself.

"Yeah," he says, and rubs his eyes. It's not a complete lie. His head doesn't hurt any more. That's better, technically speaking.

"Good," Ben leans his head back and grins at the ceiling. "Let's do something fun today."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," Ben shrugs. "You could take me flying."

Every time he sees him, Ben complains about how stuck he feels. Poe thinks of him staring distantly up at the ceiling, restless and vacant, and that gives him an idea. He grins and sits up. "How about we do one better? Let's go somewhere."

"Like where?"

Where would Ben want to go? He's never said anywhere in particular, just a general desire to go _somewhere not here._ Out of the Outer Rim.

"Let's go to Coruscant."

Ben opens his eyes so that he can give Poe an incredulous look. "You can't be serious."

"Why not? You said you'd be around for a couple weeks, let's spend one of those weeks on Coruscant," Feeling excited about this idea is definitely nicer than feeling nauseous and confused about what happened last night. "It's a day and a half to get there, we can hang around for a couple days, see the sights, then come back!"

Ben stares at him, wobbling a little bit in the air. "Really?"

"Yeah! It'll be fun."

Ben's face splits into a broad grin-- it's rare for him to just smile like that, especially lately, especially without Poe getting hurt. Poe's heart flutters in his chest. He's so pretty when he smiles.

 

When Poe pulls Ben up onto the ship they're sort-of-stealing and closes the door, Ben grabs his face and kisses him. He pins Poe up against the wall, grinning against his mouth, and Poe can't help but laugh breathlessly. He slides his arms around Ben's waist and holds him close. It feels good. It feels comfortable and easy. It feels like it's supposed to.

When Ben pulls away, though, Poe feels a bizarre stab of anxiety. Ben stands up, and Poe's heart jumps up into his throat. He starts dizzily spinning through alarmed irrational panic-thoughts: _what if he hates me now, what if there's something wrong with me, what if I'm actually terrible at kissing, what if I'm so terrible at kissing that he's disgusted now and he'll never touch me again_... on and on and on, an unwelcome rush of doubt and fear that he tries not to broadcast on his face.

Ben's just getting up to go sit down in the co-pilot's seat, not excommunicating him. It shouldn't feel so dire. _There's no reason for this to feel so dire, there's no reason to feel like this,_ he tells himself, even though thinking that draws up a well of uncomfortable flickers of memory.

He closes his eyes and shudders, shrugs away the chill crawling up his spine, and forces himself to his feet. Everything is fine. He has to stop overreacting. Everything is fine.

He gives Ben a crooked teasing grin when he sits down and starts flicking switches to start up the ship's systems. "You sure you can handle this, Benobi? You even know how to fly one of these?"

Ben grins back and punches him in the arm. "I can fly anything," he says. "I could fly circles around you, Dameron, it's in my blood."

Poe snorts. "You could not."

"Could so," Ben says, voice sarcastic-petulant. Poe laughs. "I'm serious. We should race sometime."

Ben's always been too much of a sore loser to be competitive, but Poe loves to compete. He loves the adrenaline rush, the flush of victory. He even likes losing, in a way. The sting of defeat makes him want to win more, makes him more motivated: losing makes him better.

There's a genuine gleam of excitement in Ben's eyes right now, one that sets Poe's pulse pounding. Jedi reflexes are what made Luke good, and Vader before him. That's something he'd love to go up against. If he could learn to fly better than Ben, without any Jedi powers, he really could call himself the best.

"You're on," he says.

 

Ben has a good enough time wandering around Coruscant. He's laughing and grinning and holding on to Poe's hand the whole time, dragging him through the endless crowded tourist spots, bars, hangar bays. The more time they spend wandering around, though, the more Poe notices Ben's attention drifting to the spire of the old Jedi temple on the horizon. There's a kind of buzzing tension of anticipation that gets more and more palpable the longer they're there; it's not surprising when Ben fake-casually says, "Can we go to the Jedi temple?"

The only real surprise is that he _asks_ instead of just deciding.

"If you want."

That's all Ben needs; his eyes light up with a strange intensity, and he seizes Poe's hand. He starts dragging him towards the nearest shuttle station and says, "It's where my grandfather trained. It was the best and the biggest temple in the whole galaxy. It's _huge._ "

"Can't have been that good if they came out with Darth Vader," Poe mutters.

Ben gives him a withering look over his shoulder. "He was one of the most powerful and skilled Jedi _ever_ ," he says.

"Sith," Poe corrects him. Ben's face twitches into a deeper scowl.

"He was a Jedi first, and he trained here," Ben snaps. "All the best Jedi did. Obi-Wan Kenobi sat on the Jedi Council here."

"Ah, the original Benobi."

"Shut up."

Ben lapses into aggravated silence, crosses his arms over his chest and slouches against the side of the shuttle stop. Poe leans next to him, pressing against his side, and nudges him. "You're always complaining about being a Jedi. How come you're so much more interested in the temple than the old Senate buildings? Senator Amidala and Senator Organa-- Bail, I mean-- spent a lot of time there."

Ben grimaces. " _Politicians_ ," he says, like the word leaves a nasty taste in his mouth. "They're worse by far than anything Vader ever did. It was their fault, after all. Especially Amidala. I don't get why everyone idolizes her so much."

His voice takes on a venomous snarling quality that makes Poe tense up. "I mean, if she loved Anakin as much as everyone says she did, she had to have _known_ he was turning to the dark side. But she didn't do anything to stop him or help him-- that makes her just as bad as him, but everyone's always going on about how great and smart and peaceful she was. Even though she never accomplished anything besides getting pregnant and _dying._ "

"I thought she did know, and she tried to stop him, and he killed her," Poe says.

"That's a _lie,_ " Ben snaps, slamming his fist against the smooth wall of the shuttle stop. The air feels suddenly very thin for a moment. Ben hisses in a breath and looks away, very obviously trying to calm himself down. "He didn't kill her. That's a lie the rebels made up. It's _not_ what happened."

"Oh," Poe says. He has no idea where Ben heard this bizarro alternate version of history, but arguing with him won't accomplish anything. It's entirely possible Ben just knows more than he does; he's a Jedi, after all, and it's _his_ family. To try to appease him, Poe adds, "Sorry."

"It's fine, I just--" Ben shakes his head and smooths his hands over his hair. "He never hurt her. He would never do that. The whole reason he became Darth Sidious' apprentice was because he was terrified of something happening to her that he couldn't stop. He wanted to keep her safe so badly it consumed him, and then she died and he didn't have anything left."

Poe isn't really sure what to say to that.

He's pretty sure what he's saying isn't true. It might be partially true, but it's not _entirely_ true. Darth Vader was an angry violent nightmare of a person, someone the galaxy is unquestionably better off without. It's troubling and uncomfortable that Ben seems so sympathetic towards the man who blew up Alderaan. "Uh," he says, and clears his throat. "I mean, that was probably part of it, but he was also a pretty bad guy. Generally speaking. One of the worst guys."

"Nobody's _just bad,_ Poe, don't be stupid," Ben says. The fierce aggravation has cooled, now, to a more unpleasant cold disdain. The tension in Poe's shoulders coils tighter. "He had a really horrible life and the Jedi treated him like dirt. It shouldn't have been a surprise that things went the way he did. If the Jedi really were the kind of people everyone pretends they were, then it would never have happened."

"He killed a lot of people," Poe says.

"All the Jedi killed a lot of people," Ben says. Then he smiles, and tilts his head to face him, and adds, " _You've_ killed a lot of people."

They stand in uncomfortable silence for a while; Poe is pretty sure he's more uncomfortable than Ben is. This seems to be becoming the way of things. Ben lapses into a strange unreadable silence, and Poe stands there fidgeting and trying to think of something to say so he doesn't feel so weird.

Concern and anxiety nag at him-- not that Ben would ever do anything like what Vader did, of course, but that people will _think_ he would if he keeps going on about him like this. It bothers him immensely when people misunderstand Ben; he would never hurt anybody. Nobody besides Poe, and that's different.

They get on the shuttle going closest to the temple; none of them go directly there any more, because technically no one's allowed to go there. It's lain mostly undisturbed for decades. But Ben's a Jedi-- Poe's pretty sure he's got a right to go in, no matter what the rules might be.

It's crowded, and Poe can tell there's people looking at Ben. If he were going to be recognized anywhere, it would be someplace like this. _Senator Organa's son._ _Luke Skywalker's nephew. The Jedi boy._ Nobody approaches them, probably because Ben looks incredibly unapproachable. Even here, he doesn't quite fit in, even though Poe looks right at home: no one else here wears layers of all-black robes. No one else here wears all black at all, as far as Poe can tell.

Trying to be diplomatic, Poe says, "You seem to know a lot about him," in a low voice. He doesn't want to say the name, not where people might hear. If they're not already thinking that Ben looks like a modern update to Darth Vader, he doesn't want to put that thought in their heads.

Ben snorts. "You might not have heard, but he was _fairly_ important. Everyone ought to know a lot about him."

"You know that's not what I..." Poe sighs and rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms, hunching over in his seat. "You know people worry you're like him, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Ben's grin only widens. "I take it as a compliment. I'm like a better version of him, which is basically ideal, right?"

"Is it?"

"The galaxy needed a better version of Anakin Skywalker than it had. He was supposed to bring balance to the Force, but he was too weak to actually do it. If I'm a better version of him, then maybe I could do what he couldn't."

Ben says this like it's obvious and not absolutely kriffing bonkers. Poe blinks, slowly, and clears his throat.

Being a Jedi really is different in a fundamental way from being a normal person. All that stuff about destiny and galactic peace and the balance of the Force feels too grand and mystical to him. He doesn't usually feel so profoundly far away from Ben, but in this moment he barely even recognizes him. There's an intense enthusiasm lighting up his face; Ben is never enthusiastic about anything. When he focuses, he's always intense, but he has always been driven mostly by boredom and short-term satisfaction. He's never _wanted_ anything that he couldn't immediately grab. He's never really seemed to have any kind of goal. Poe knows he should be happy that he seems to have a sense of purpose, but instead he feels anxious and uncomfortable and worried.

 _Doing what Darth Vader couldn't_ could mean a lot of things. A lot of them aren't good. Poe doesn't really know what bringing balance to the Force would entail; he's not really sure what it being out of balance means in the first place. It's not really his area of expertise. But he's got a bad feeling about it anyway, a nagging sense of danger that he can't put his finger on. Whatever Ben's going to try to do, he feels like it will go _badly._

"That's a lot of pressure to put on yourself," he says.

"It won't break me like it broke Grandfather. I'm stronger than he was," Ben says, eyes gleaming.

 

The two of them sneak in through a back door that Ben opens with a quick jerk of his hand. The temple is huge and empty and dead silent. The noise of the city vanishes when Ben shuts the door behind them, and even their breathing seems to echo off the smooth floor. Everything is dim and dusty, and something about the emptiness and the quiet makes him feel profoundly sad. The silence isn't just the quiet of an empty building, it's the quiet of a graveyard. It's spiritually empty, not just physically, and the air is heavy with grief.

"Wow," Ben breathes, wide-eyed. I've seen this place in visions, but I never realized how _big_ it was."

Poe can't really think of anything to say. He sort of wants to leave, but Ben grabs his wrist and marches down the hall with a broad grin on his face. He starts talking, dozens of half-sentences stumbling over each other in his rush to speak. "I can feel it-- the Jedi-- thousands of years of history-- these _walls_ \--"

Poe stumbles along after him, feeling heavier with every step he takes into the heart of the temple.

"Anakin Skywalker and the 501st left those scorchmarks. Right there. He did that during Operation Knightfall." Ben yanks him over to a wall with a faded scorchmark from a blaster. Just looking at it makes Poe feel sort of sick. It might just be his imagination running away with him, but when he looks at the scorchmark he can almost feel what happened. The sharp shriek of blasters, the desperate scrambling to get away, jerking his lightsaber up to deflect a shot only to be hit by another, a body slumping to the floor--

Poe inhales sharply and blinks away the afterimages. His eyes sting a little bit. So many people died here. It feels haunted.

"They killed all the Jedi in the temple, every last one of them. Just him and a bunch of clones. He was only twenty-two. Can you believe that? There were Council members here, old Jedi Masters, and he killed _all_ of them. It happened right here."

Ben brushes his fingertips over the wall before he turns and resumes dragging Poe down the hall. He seems energized, almost manic, eyes wide and overbright. His grip on Poe's wrist is too tight. "This place is incredible," he says. "Where first? Anakin's room? The Archives? The Council's meeting room?"

"I feel like we're not supposed to be here at all," Poe hisses.

"Probably because you're not a Jedi," Ben says dismissively. "The temple's been keeping people out. It'll adjust to your presence eventually. Don't let it bother you."

Poe stops, which jerks Ben to a halt as well. "Maybe I should just wait outside."

"Seriously?" Ben looks at him over his shoulder. He looks disappointed. Poe's heart sinks. "You don't even want to see the Archives?"

"I do," Poe says, even though he doesn't. He knows he'd regret passing up the opportunity, but the urge to turn tail and run out the door is a powerful one. This place feels wrong. But Ben is more excited about this than anything else right now, and Poe wants very badly to keep him smiling. "Yeah, alright, let's go to the Archives."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Ben practically runs down the broad corridors, chattering all the while about Jedi who lived there. He doesn't hesitate once; he just knows his way around without thinking, like he grew up here. Poe feels like he's being pulled into a labyrinth; every hallway looks the same, devoid of furniture and decoration and signage, and the two of them make so many turns that he completely loses track of where they are. He couldn't leave on his own even if he wanted to.

The Archives still have power, but Ben can't get anything to work. This barely puts a dent in his enthusiasm, though-- he declares that they'll have to come back some other time, and drags Poe out to see more of the temple.

The feeling of wrongness keeps getting worse. Poe tries to keep up with Ben, but he's stumbling and exhausted and halfway to the old Jedi Council room he passes out.

 

He wakes up in stages. The first thing he's aware of is a vibration rumbling against his back, the distant sound of ship engines. Then he feels the telltall lightness of artificial ship's gravity. He's in space. He opens his eyes to discover that he's on the floor in the cockpit of the ship he stole with Ben. Ben's in the pilot's seat.

"Hey, Benobi," he mumbles, as he sits up with great effort. "We're going home already?"

Ben turns the chair so he can look directly down at him, and says, "You've been unconscious for two days."

He doesn't look worried, just distantly interested. Poe frowns; he's never been unconscious for that long before. That's twice he's passed out in just a little more than a week... he would worry he's sick with something, but he can't think of any diseases that just make people faint. "Oh," he says.

He's relieved that he didn't ruin Ben's trip, but at the same time he's disappointed. If anything happened to Ben, he would have turned around and taken him home immediately. Or to a hospital. That's the nice thing to do, but... Ben's never been nice. He shouldn't expect anything different from him. There's no point getting mad at him for just having the personality he has, and it's not like Poe's much worse off for it.

"How do you feel?" Ben asks. He sounds more curious than concerned. "Did you have any cool dreams?"

"I feel fine," Poe says. He feels disoriented and groggy, but mostly fine. "I don't remember dreaming anything."

"Oh. That's boring." The interest in Ben's eyes fades. He props his chin up on his hand and hums in a disappointed sort of way. "I suppose you wouldn't have, since you're not Force-sensitive, but I thought for a moment there that you had hidden untapped potential or something."

That stings. It's not quite what Ben said, but Poe feels like he just dismissed Poe's entire existence as being _boring_ because he's not a Jedi. It stings, but... he can't really argue. There's no denying that being a Jedi is just more interesting than being anything else. He can't move things with his mind or see the future or walk on walls. He's just really good at flying ships, and even that's not that special. Ben can do that, too.

He clears his throat and forces a smile. "How was the temple? Did you get to see everything you wanted?"

Ben lights up and starts chattering away about the rooms and the walls and the history of the Jedi temple. It's interesting, but it's way too much information and Poe can't keep track of hardly any of it. He curls up in the co-pilot's seat and sits there nodding and smiling while Ben talks. He tries to look interested and enthusiastic, to match Ben's surprisingly upbeat mood, but it's harder than he'd like it to be. Resentment tenses up his shoulders. It bothers him that Ben made him stay in the temple even though he wanted to leave, and that when he passed out because of whatever weirdo Jedi bullshit Ben didn't bother to take him to the hospital.

He doesn't want that to bother him. It wasn't a terrible thing to do, just thoughtless. If he got mad at everyone for not thinking about things, he'd be mad all the time. But still... it bugs him. It bugs him enough that, when Ben finally stops talking, Poe musters up his energy and decides to say something about it.

"Hey, Ben," he says. "It bothers me that when I said I wanted to leave, you made me stay, and then when I passed out because I stayed you didn't get a doctor."

"Oh?" Ben looks at him with an uncomfortably intense focus, leaning his chair back so he can put his boots up on the control panel of the ship. When he speaks again, his voice sounds a bit deeper. The air feels a bit thinner. "I didn't make you do anything. You could have just left without me and waited outside. It's not reasonable to put this all on me."

Poe wants to argue, wants to point out that Ben was gripping his wrist so hard it left bruises, but he can't find the words.

"You're the one who decided to stay. You didn't tell me you felt so bad that you were about to pass out," Ben says.

A weary fog settles in over Poe's shoulders, completely dissipating the tension that was building there. Ben's right, like he always is. Poe could have left, even though Ben wanted him to stay. He chose to stay in the temple, even though he felt terrible. This whole trip was his idea in the first place. If there was really something wrong, Ben would have known and done something.

"It's not reasonable to put this all on you," Poe says, and rubs his eyes with a tired sigh. "I'm sorry, I know that, I just felt-- I don't know. I'm just tired, I guess."

Apparently the apology wasn't enough; Ben's not done. He keeps looking at Poe, and Poe vaguely notes that Ben hasn't blinked in an unnaturally long time.

"I didn't think you passing out was that big of a deal. Taking you to a hospital would have been a huge waste of time. If there was something seriously wrong, I would have sensed it," he says. "Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you," Poe says immediately. "Of _course_ , I just-- I didn't think-- it's just that anybody else would have taken me to the hospital."

Patiently, like he's explaining this to a child, Ben says, "That's because they aren't Jedi. I know you better than anyone else does, Poe. I can always tell when there's something off."

Poe's heart shudders in his chest and an unpleasant tightness seizes his throat.

He thinks this is probably what true love feels like. It's something deeper and more complicated than the love he feels for other people. They know each other better than any other pair of people Poe's ever met. They understand each other. There's no one else who makes Poe feel the way Ben makes him feel.

"You know me better than anyone," he says hoarsely. "I should trust you."

Ben smiles. He blinks slowly, like a pleased cat, and Poe shudders in a breath.

"Sorry," he says.

 

***

 

For once, the whole family is in the same place. Han and Chewie and Lando and Leia and Luke and Ben and Poe are all on D'Qar; Poe is twenty-two and he can't remember how long it's been since they had everyone together for more than a few hours. There's too many people for Ben's taste. Since Han and Chewie showed up, he's been slouching around scowling at everybody and barely sleeping. He's been keeping Poe up, too, since he doesn't like being awake by himself. The last three days, he's woken Poe up at three in the morning with a sharp elbow to the ribs and dragged him out on a walk. He doesn't _say_ he's antsy and overwhelmed, but Poe knows him well enough that he doesn't need him to. It's tiring, but he doesn't mind that much. It's difficult to be annoyed when Ben's holding his hand and the moon is reflecting off the smooth black surface of the lake.

Ben is tasked with making dinner for everyone. This means, naturally, that Poe makes three-quarters of dinner and Ben does the least amount of work he can manage. He sits on the counter peeling apples while Poe does everything else. Poe doesn't mind; he's better at cooking than Ben is, and Ben is better at peeling apples. He can peel off the skin all in one long spiral without even thinking about it.

It's hazy warm in the kitchen, and everything smells like food, and the sunset streaming through the windows colors everything orange. He can hear, distantly, the sounds of the rest of the family talking and laughing in the other room. Ben's wearing short sleeves and has his hair pulled up away from his neck because it's too warm to wear anything else, and Poe's got the sleeves of his thin shirt pushed up to his elbows. It's humid, even indoors.

Poe hasn't felt this much at home in years. Maybe not since before Ben left.

He scrapes chopped onions off the cutting board and into the pan and says, "Hey, Ben."

Ben doesn't take his eyes off the apple he's peeling. "What."

It's as good a time as any to say it. There's no better time, he thinks. It's not like it's a big deal-- it shouldn't be a big deal. He tells lots of people that he loves them, because he loves a lot of people. It just feels different, with Ben. With other people, Poe doesn't feel nearly so anxious. He's happy to just tell people that they're loved, because that's a nice thing to hear.

It's not like Ben's the only prickly person he's ever met. There's plenty of other people who grumble at him when he's smiley and affectionate. It's just different, with Ben, and he can't really say why _._ It's just a different kind of love. It feels more real. More important. It feels like he has to get this _right._

Heart pounding in his throat, Poe leans against the counter and tries not to look like he's anxious.

"I love you," he says.

Ben glances at him, briefly, then back down at the apple in his hands. He doesn't look embarrassed or grouchy or gruff or-- or anything, really. He just looks bored.  With a tone of flat indifference, he says, "I know."

As though Poe's just told him that grass is green, or what time it is.

Poe waits, but Ben does not give him anything else. He wishes he wasn't so disappointed by that. It's stupid to ever really expect anything gushy and romantic from Ben-- it's just not the way he is-- but he still catches himself doing it anyway.

"Right," he says, and turns back to the food so he doesn't burn anything.

He cooks in silence for the next few minutes, nervously glancing at Ben every thirty seconds or so, hoping for a reaction. He doesn't get one. Ben continues to look bored and sullen. When he finishes peeling the apple he's holding, he tosses it at Poe's head and says, "I hate cooking."

The apple bounces off Poe's temple; he catches it before it hits the floor and sets it on the counter. "I know," he says.

"I'm not a little kid any more, I shouldn't have to do chores like this."

"Well," Poe says. "You're not really doing much of anything, technically speaking."

He meant that to sound like gentle fond teasing, but Ben's expression sours and he flings another apple at him. This one, Poe dodges, barely-- it whips past his head and smashes into pieces against the wall. If it had hit him, it would have left a nasty mark. "Whoa! Ben--"

"Don't be a dick," Ben says, cutting him off before he can say anything. "I'm exhausted and overheated and dad and Lando and Chewie have been ragging on me all day."

Poe says, "I'm not being a dick. You're the one throwing things."

Ben pauses for a long time, scowling at him. He's in a bad mood, probably because of the heat, but Poe's not about to apologize just because Ben's _grouchy_.

"C'mere," Ben says in a low voice.

Poe glances over at him and raises his eyebrows. "Why?"

" _Come here,_ " Ben says again, and this time it's heavy and commanding and Poe's moving towards him without thinking. Ben grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks him up against the counter; it hurts, and elicits a sharp pained noise that makes Ben's mouth twitch into a grin. He wraps his legs around Poe and kisses him hard on the mouth, with teeth.

It surprises a laugh out of him before he tilts his head back to kiss him back. As soon as Poe leans into the kiss, Ben's hand drops from Poe's hair to tug at his shirt. Poe's heart jumps into his throat; there's something insistent and purposeful about the way Ben is kissing him that's bad news. Extremely tempting, but bad news nonetheless. He mumbles, into Ben's mouth, "Ben, we're kinda busy right now."

"Technically speaking, I'm not doing much of anything," Ben says, and slides off the counter so his body is flush against Poe's. He arches his hips against him and presses his mouth against Poe's neck and Poe can't help shivering. He can feel the vibration of Ben's voice against his skin when he says, "Take a break. I'm _bored._ "

Poe laughs, breathless and nervous. Their entire family is very close by. Not in the next room-- that's the dining room-- but still close enough that Poe can hear their voices. Not to mention that they could come in at any time to check on the food. He puts his hands on Ben's waist and kisses the crook of his neck and says, firmly, "Later."

Apparently undeterred, Ben kisses him again and shoves his tongue into his mouth this time. Poe's fingers tighten on his waist; a faint twist of nausea is quickly drowned out by the heat spreading over his skin as Ben slides his hand up under his shirt. He moans weakly and feels Ben grin and it takes a truly heroic effort to pull away. " _Ben_ , I gotta make dinner," he says, voice a little more whiny than he'd like it to be.

With an annoyed noise, Ben shoves him against the opposite wall so hard that Poe cracks his head and pins him there. "Come on," he says. He's so tall and so close and so warm-- Poe can't really think straight, and his breathing is shaky, but he _knows_ this is a terrible idea that will probably end badly for him. He twists his head away when Ben tries to kiss him again.

"I'm serious," he says. "No shenanigans in the kitchen. That way lies disaster and regret. There's about a thousand different terrible things that could happen even if your parents weren't within earshot. All kinds of appliances, and sharp objects, and--"

"It'll be _fine_ ," Ben insists. Poe is pretty sure it won't be, but it's difficult to argue when Ben's voice is that particular pitch and he's so warm and close.

"Ehhgh," he says. Ben's hand slides down his chest towards his pants and he half-panics, stumbling to find the words he means to say. The ones that aren't _fuck_ or _Ben_ or _please._ "Not right now, not right now, okay?"

Ben sighs and Poe thinks for a moment that he's safely navigated away from this mess. Then Ben murmurs, "I love you."

How can he say no to that? Affection from Ben is rare, even with things the way they are now-- every little piece always turns him into an embarrassing blushing mess. All his nerves and good sense get shoved unceremoniously aside in favor of giddy disbelief. "You-- you-- s-say again?"

Ben presses his right hand against Poe's cheek, and Poe barely registers that he's still holding the knife he was using to peel apples. "I love you," Ben says again, and Poe can't bite back a delighted laugh.

He's almost delirious when Ben kisses him; he feels so preposterously happy and warm and _home_ like he's never felt before. Ben loves him; he always knew he did, of course, but he's never ever said so before. Poe's pretty sure he's never even heard Ben tell his parents _I love you_ \-- like _sorry,_ it's just not something that he says. But he said it, so he must mean it, and Poe knows he's been right all along. The private fear that maybe Ben actually hates him-- one he doesn't like to think about or acknowledge-- vanishes, because now he _knows._ He wraps his arms around Ben, who _loves him_ , and can't really bring himself to protest when Ben slides his hand down his pants. It's all too nice.

He's half zoned out, one hand tangled in Ben's hair, mouth crushed against his, when something sharp turns a soft moan into a pained yelp. The blade of Ben's knife, which he'd totally forgotten about, digging into his chest. "What the--"

"Just let it happen," Ben says.

He's not exactly up for fighting him on this, what with Ben's other hand being wrapped around his dick and all. It's probably best to just let it happen.

That's easier said than done, it turns out. Ben jerks his hand, cutting into his chest, and white-hot pain shoots through his body. His vision goes white and his entire body arches. He screams.

There's surprised noises in the other room, and then Leia calls, "Everything alright in there?"

Poe wants to die. He has never wanted to die as much as he wants to die in that moment. Shaking with barely-constrained laughter, eyes bright, Ben presses the now-bloody knife against Poe's lips to shush him. "Fine, mother!" he calls back. Poe can hear amusement in his voice; through the haze, he wonders if their family can hear it, too. It seems agonizingly obvious to him that Ben's laughing at him. "Poe burned his hand, that's all."

"Poe, be careful-- I don't want anybody sent to the ICU because of stir-fry!"

The cut hurts even more when Poe breathes. He can feel tears pricking at his eyes, embarrassingly enough. No longer able to contain himself, Ben lifts the knife away from Poe's mouth and actually dissolves into quiet laughter, pressing his forehead against the wall next to Poe's head so he's giggling right into his ear.

Cheeks burning, Poe manages to force out a suspiciously hoarse, "Yes, ma'am!"

That seems to be good enough. The sounds of conversation resume in the other room, and he doesn't hear anyone coming over. "Ben, that _really hurts,_ " he hisses.

"I know," Ben says. "That's the point."

He shifts and presses the knife against Poe's chest again; anticipation of pain stiffens his spine and sets his teeth on edge. "Don't," he says.

"I didn't think a bigshot Resistance soldier like you would be such a baby," Ben teases, like this is just another game. He presses a kiss against Poe's mouth that Poe doesn't reciprocate at all, and adds, "I don't think you really want me to stop right now, do you?"

His other hand is still on his cock, and he's still hard, and he's _right_ but at the same time-- "I'd like you to put the knife down," he croaks.

"Hmm," Ben says, and digs it into his skin. Poe claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the noise he makes-- it _hurts_. Slowly-- slow is worse than fast, he thinks, at least fast is over after a few seconds-- he drags the knife down Poe's chest. Poe bites down hard on his lower lip, digs his nails into his face, and shudders. "Seems to me like you're enjoying this, actually."

Poe kicks Ben in the shin, which doesn't seem to bother him at all. Still with a wolfish amused grin on his face, Ben says, "Settle down. Think of it as practice for resisting enemy interrogation. You obviously need some, since your pain tolerance is so bad."

Poe glares at him, though he's sure the intimidation factor is diminished by the fact that his eyes are brimming with tears. He takes his hand away from his mouth so he can speak. "I'm not enjoying it," he says, ragged and hoarse and unconvincing even to his own ears.

"You like it, and you're going to shut up and let me have fun," Ben says firmly. When he starts moving his hand again, and digs the knife into his chest again, and scrapes his teeth over Poe's throat, all he can do is whimper into his hand and squirm. The sharp piercing pain and the overwhelming heat and the pleasure shooting up his spine jumble together.

He squeezes his eyes shut and arches and mumbles, "I like it and I'm going to shut up and let you have fun."

 

All evening, Poe tries not to look flustered and rumpled and pained. The comfortable feeling of being at home, of fitting in, is mostly gone. That's what's most frustrating; his family is here, but they suddenly feel far away. He keeps zoning out without realizing it, staring at his food and realizing that he hasn't heard a word anyone is saying. Every time he moves, he winces; shifting in any way tugs at the skin on his chest and sends a twinge of pain through his torso. Ben stopped the bleeding with a brush of his fingers, but it apparently didn't occur to him to stop the pain while he was at it.

Across the table from him, Ben smiles, chatting and laughing with their family like he wasn't just sulking about having to be around them less than an hour ago. He seems comfortable. Happy. With his hair pulled back and his arms bare, he almost looks like he fits in for once. Poe wants to be mad at him, but he can't quite do it. Not when he's so out of it. His vision isn't blurring, but he keeps needing to blink and make an active conscious effort to _look_ at things, otherwise he just sort of doesn't see anything. He focuses his eyes on Ben, and that helps a bit.

It feels obvious. It must be obvious. Part of him hopes it's obvious, wants someone to ask him if he's okay so that he can say he's not. More of him hopes nobody notices, because what if they noticed _everything?_ That would be awful.

Predictably, since it's exactly what he doesn't want to happen, Lando flicks him in the head and says, "You alright there, son? You look like hell."

Poe musters all his energy and grins and shrugs (this hurts) and says, "It was a long day."

"Probably just the temperature. It got pretty hot in the kitchen," Ben says, like this is all very funny. "I'll ensure he goes right to bed after dinner."

 

***

 

Sometimes the distant sounds of Han and Leia fighting keep him awake. They've always been like that; when Han is actually around, they snap at each other and bicker and slam doors. _Love is hard work,_ Leia tells him more than once, with a long-suffering sigh. _A real pain in the ass._

Poe and Ben don't fight.

They never fight. A fight implies a two-sided affair; both parties participating in the conflict. That never happens. If Ben is upset, it's only because Poe has done something he needs to apologize for, so Poe apologizes. If Poe is upset, it's probably his own fault, so Poe apologizes. Even when Poe thinks he's justified, he never is.

 _You have a tendency to overreact,_ Ben says. _You're too sensitive. Don't you trust me? Don't you like me? I don't understand why you're upset._

 _Sorry,_ Poe says. _Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm too sensitive, I trust you, I'm sorry._

Love isn't difficult with anyone but Ben-- not with other people he's dated, not with his friends, not with his family-- but love isn't the same with people besides Ben. With Ben, it's special. It's different. It's the realest thing he's ever felt, and sometimes it's the only thing that feels real. No matter how hazy or distracted or uncomfortable Poe might be, Ben can reach through it and ground him to reality like an anchor.

Ben is strange and reticent and sort of mean a lot of the time, but Poe wouldn't ever want him to be a different person than he is. When Ben is kind to him, it feels earned, and that's a lot more satisfying than affection from other people. It's not that Ben's is the only opinion that matters, it's just that his is the only one that feels real enough to trust.

 

***

 

It's bustling outside; people moving around, talking, chatting. It's good weather, for once not unbearably humid, so everybody's out and about. Poe's taking this opportunity to sit on a pile of boxes in the sun and work on his custom BB unit-- he's painting parts of it orange. Every piece he paints needs several coats, and every coat takes about a day to dry, so it's taking a while.

They're twenty-three and twenty-one and Ben's home for the first time in months. Poe's not sure how long it's been, actually; time tends to blur together between Ben's visits, slipping by unmarked. He's so busy with piloting that he doesn't really keep to a daily routine, and he spends so much time in space that dividing time into days feels meaningless more often than not. He remembers a handful of specific things that have happened since he saw Ben last, but the chronological order of them escapes him.

Ben visits more often than he used to. Poe's not sure what he tells Luke; not the truth, that's for certain. Ben insists they keep their thing a secret-- Poe's friends figured it out pretty much immediately, but their family still knows nothing about it.

Ben comes up behind him and rests his chin on top of Poe's head, draping his arms over Poe's shoulders. "You're being boring again, I see," he says, and leans on him.

The contact makes him tense up. Poe feels a powerful urge to cringe away. The sensation of being touched-- the weight on his back, the brush of Ben's skin on his, the closeness of him-- makes his skin crawl, like there's thousands of insects swarming under his skin. This has been happening more and more often: someone touches him and he suddenly wants to rip all his skin off. At first it was distressing and alarming, since that's not the kind of thing he's ever thought about, but as it started happening more it stopped seeming like such a big deal. He never actually does anything to hurt himself. He would never do anything to hurt himself. He just thinks about it and can't stop sometimes.

It's the kind of thing he thought Jedi were supposed to sense, but Ben never seems to. Funny, how Ben's always saying he can tell what he's thinking and that he knows him better than anybody else, but never seems to be able to tell when Poe's uncomfortable. Ben can be careless that way. It's just how he is.

"You're the only one who's bored," His hands are full, so he can't hold Ben's hands; instead, he turns his head and kisses Ben's arm. "You should get some hobbies. Like knitting. Or dejarik."

Ben picks at a loose thread on Poe's sleeve, tugs it out of the fabric until it's long enough to wrap around one of his fingers. Mildly, he says, "I have hobbies."

"No, you don't," Poe scoffs. "I know for a fact that you don't. Name _one_ hobby you have, and Jedi training doesn't count."

Ben snaps the thread off Poe's shirt and flicks it onto the ground. "I have you."

This is one of those times when Poe has to hang on especially hard to a memory of Ben's voice saying _I love you._ Of course he doesn't mean that he thinks of Poe as a hobby and not as a partner, he doesn't mean that he doesn't think of Poe as a person at all-- but it still sounds like that, a little bit.

It's difficult to keep painting with his vision unfocusing. It's difficult to paint when he keeps thinking about snapping his paintbrush in half and using the sharp broken end to stab himself in the throat. He wishes he didn't think about that kind of thing. "Relationships aren't hobbies," Poe says. He's trying to balance his tone between concerned and casual and joking and serious, and it comes out sounding strange and terse.

"Are they not?" Ben leans harder on Poe's back so he can reach one of his long arms over and poke the wet orange paint. His fingertip comes away orange, and leaves a little smudged bit in the paint that Poe spent a not-insignificant amount of time getting perfectly smooth. He hums and says, "Orange is a strange color for a droid."

Changing the subject, just like that. Poe dabs paint over the smudge Ben left, irritation rising in his throat, and says, "Orange is my favorite color."

"It's ugly," Ben says. He wipes the paint on his finger off on Poe's upper arm. "Suits you, though."

Poe wonders, vaguely, how much it would hurt to bite his own tongue off and die. He says, "You're hilarious. The pinnacle of comedy."

"Well, one of us has to be. You're in a bad mood," Ben says. A distant, faintly interested, observation. Not being able to see his face when they talk is disorienting. Ben's voice isn't very expressive. Neither is his face, granted, but Poe's better at reading his face than his voice.

"I'm not in a bad mood," Poe says, but he can hear how aggravated he sounds. It seems like he is in a bad mood, which is weird because he has no reason to be.

"It doesn't suit you," Ben says. He straightens up, which lifts the weight off Poe's back, and rests his hands on Poe's head. "Why are you annoyed?"

Poe shrugs and keeps his attention on painting the droid component in his hand. He's not sure he could explain why he's annoyed even if he tried. "Don't worry about it."

Ben grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks Poe's head back so that he can stare down at his face. The sharp sting in his scalp eases the tension and the urge to rip his skin off. It's cathartic, in a way. "Now you're being difficult," Ben says. "Tell me why you're in a bad mood."

 _I don't know_ dies in his throat. He's not a good liar. Ben's voice saying _tell the truth_ rings in his ears and he says, "You've been here for two weeks and I'm starting to get antsy. Spending this much time in close proximity to you is making me restless and anxious to get back to the rest of my life."

"I see," Ben says.

His facial expression doesn't change, but Poe still gets the distinct feeling that he fucked up. A weary heaviness settles on his shoulders; Ben is incredibly difficult to please a lot of the time. If Poe tells the truth, Ben's annoyed. If Poe lies, Ben's annoyed. It frustrates him to no end.

"I don't mean I'm sick of you," he says, though he's not entirely sure that's true.

"Of course not," Ben's voice drops to a low, almost hypnotizing, murmur. "You could never get sick of me. I'm your best friend."

The irritation fades. He's got no real reason to be annoyed. Everything gets sort of far away, and his skin finally stops crawling. Ben is his best friend; that's never going to change. He can never stay mad at him, not really. "I could never get sick of you," Poe says. "You're my best friend."

 

***

 

Leia wrings her hands when she says, "Poe, I don't know how to say this. Something terrible has happened."

The haunted look in her eyes makes his heart stop in his chest. Something terrible has happened to someone he knows-- faces and names of the dozens of people it could be flicker through his head and he tries to brace himself for the news. People die all the time, in the Resistance. This is war. He's learning to cope with those losses, learning to carry them and turn them into angry fuel for the fight against the First Order. _Death is a natural part of life,_ Luke says.

He grips his knees tight and nods at her to continue.

"Luke and his students were attacked. He seems to have escaped, but he's... the only one."

Something sharp seems to have lodged in his throat. He can't breathe or move.

"Ben's gone," Leia says, and her voice cracks as she says it. She presses a hand over her mouth and looks away. "I'm so sorry."

He's twenty-five and Ben is dead.


	4. Chapter 4

Poe doesn't cry.

The family goes to Yavin 4 for a memorial ceremony. They put a headstone near Poe's parents for Ben, even though they don't have a body, and they cluster around it. More people came than Poe anticipated; friends of Leia's and Han's, mostly, there to support them. A lot of them never even met Ben, which feels strange: they're mourning some abstract idea of a lost son, completely divorced from who Ben was.

Everyone cries besides him, including the people who never even met Ben. Poe feels like he has glass lodged in his throat, and he feels the stinging awful pressure behind his eyes of approaching tears, but the tension never breaks. The tears don't come.

Time is a fuzzy concept for him. People keep trying to talk to him and comfort him and ask him how he's doing, a long endless smear of indistinguishable Not-Bens. He shrugs them all off. He tells a lot of people that he's fine, even though that's obviously not the case; he just wants them to leave him alone, because he's not capable of holding a conversation. He doesn't have words to express what he's feeling; he tells other people that he's _pretty sad_ , which feels about as accurate as _fine_ even though he's not trying to lie.

Everyone else seems deeply moved by the whole affair. Poe is not. He doesn't feel any deep stirrings of emotion, no overwhelming wash of grief-- none of the things he's supposed to feel. The whole thing is very far away. It doesn't feel real. It feels dreamlike; slow and inflectionless and difficult to remember. There's so many strangers on his family's land, here to gawk at his family's grief.

He can't help thinking the whole time how much Ben would have hated it. There's too many people, for one thing. He'd find all the crying annoying; even Poe is finding it annoying. It all seems very forced, like they're just pretending to care so they can feel like they're good people for crying at some dead kid's funeral.

When Lando gets up and talks about what a good kid Ben was, Poe has to leave. It's too strange and aggravating, entering this alternate reality where Ben is dead and never did anything wrong.

Poe climbs up into the Force tree Luke gave to his parents. If Ben were here, he would have grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him over here to make out in this tree; he knows this with such certainty that sitting in it alone feels strange. It feels like Ben is supposed to be there with him, but he isn't. He still expects to see Ben out of the corner of his eye, and the emptiness where Ben isn't unnerves him. It's like walking up a staircase and expecting there to be a stair where there isn't; just for a moment, that empty space is sharp and present and alarming.

He sits with his back pressed against the trunk of the tree and his legs resting on a branch, and he stares at nothing. Being by himself feels better; he doesn't have to try to force himself to stay present when he can't be, or look at faces that he just can't keep in his head. He's been straining his eyes all day trying to brute force his way into feeling functional, and it hasn't worked at all. It just gave him a pounding headache.

Leia asked Poe, before-- he can't remember how much time has passed, it's all blurry-- if he wanted to speak. The question baffled him. Why would that be something he wanted? Why would anyone else want that? What would he even say? _Hello, everyone. Ben and I have been secretly dating for the past four years. Surprise!_

Even now, no one besides a few of Poe's friends know. It feels wrong to keep it a secret from Leia and Han now, but what else can he do? Poe can't think of a way to tell them that doesn't sound bizarre. There's no real need for them to know, he supposes. It's not like the information is useful to them in any way. It would just make things even more uncomfortable than they already are.

 _Why do you always want to tell everybody everything?_ Ben would say.

So, he couldn't say anything about that. What, then? What is there to say about Ben that's appropriate for a funeral? _Let's be real, guys. Ben was mean and weird and difficult to talk to._ No one wants to hear that.

It's not that they shouldn't have fond memories of Ben, it's just that everything everyone is saying about him is blatantly false. They're not remembering Ben at all. He was a person with so much specificity to him, and this funeral feels like it could be for anyone. It's far more artificial and unpleasant than any other funeral Poe has ever attended.

Ben is gone. No one seems to grasp what that really means. They're crying, but they're not crying because they understand how horrible it is that Ben is dead. They're just crying because _somebody_ died. Ben would hate that, if he were here.

If Ben were here, he definitely would have bullied Poe into saying something. He would have insisted Poe speak, and then he would have dragged him aside right before he had to talk and he would have given Poe several massive hickeys and then shoved him out in front of the crowd of people. He would have found that very funny.

Poe's mouth tugs into a tiny smile. For just a moment, he thinks-- wryly-- that it's probably for the best Ben's not here. Then he immediately feels terrible for thinking something like that. He doesn't know what's wrong with him.

 

The most difficult thing to deal with is not that he feels like he's asleep even when he's awake, or how easily everything gets on his nerves, or the queasy empty feeling in his stomach, or the dull misery. Nor is it the people walking up to him and trying to hug him, or the people treating him like he's a fragile toddler, or the people asking _how are you?_

These are all terrible. Everything about this whole thing is awful. But the worst thing is definitely the occasional moments where he actually feels relieved. Every once in a while, something in his head misfires and remembering that Ben is gone forever and he's never going to see him again makes him feel relieved instead of horrible.

Of course that relief is immediately followed up by soul-crushing guilt, but-- those moments still happen, and the relief lingers underneath everything else. He hates himself for that.

 

***

 

"Careful," the pilot says, pointing his hydrospanner at him. "It's way overheated."

The ship is buzzing and clanking, giving off clouds of noxious smoke. It has been for hours, now. Poe's drawn to the wreck, half out of a desire to help and half morbid curiosity. The machine is in bad shape. Poe stares at the side of it, at the scratched-up metal, and his skin prickles. He reaches out a hand so that he can feel the heat on his palm, radiating off the metal. It would hurt to touch it. It would burn.

He starts to slip outside of himself, staring distantly at the metal, lost in the dinged-up orange paint. Everything seems to shift in his peripheral vision; not quite spinning, but not quite staying still, either. The ship alone is motionless.

The warmth is inviting. Maybe it would be nice. Maybe he'd enjoy it. His ears start ringing, and now that's all he can think about. Ben would tell him to do it. Poe can practically feel his breath on his skin, his body pressed up against his back, his hands on his hips, his voice humming in his ears. _Do it. You know you'll like it._

Tension rises in his shoulders until he can't take it any more. He needs to make it stop. For a stupid strange moment, the only thing he can think to do is touch the ship. He wants to touch it. He needs to touch it. It's the only way to get himself to stop thinking about touching it, to stop thinking about _Ben._

With a sharp intake of breath, he puts his hand on the overheated metal side of the ship. It burns his palm; white-hot pain shoots up his arm. The heat rushes to his face, too, burning at the backs of his eyes, and he feels a familiar jolt at the base of his spine.

For just a moment, the pain feels like clarity. The fog inside his head suddenly dissipates. Then, of course, he yanks his hand away on instinct and the fog rushes back all at once, all the more disorienting because of the moment it was gone. Hands shaking, Poe hisses in air through his teeth and swears.

"Wha-- Dameron, I told you to be careful! Are you okay?"

Poe staggers back, eyes watering from the pain and the smoke, and cannot for the life of him figure out _why_ he did that. It was stupid. It hurt. _Why did I do that?_ "I'm fine," he says, with a strained smile. "Burned my hand pretty good, but it's nothing serious. I'll go take care of it."

He takes a step in the wrong direction first, disoriented, then fakes a laugh and turns back towards the base, clutching his wrist. He hears, louder than anything else, his heart pounding in his ears. It's difficult to breathe.

His feet take him home; he doesn't quite remember walking there, but there he is nonetheless. Leia is out. There's no one else who might be there, now. Han doesn't come home any more. Luke is gone. Ben is gone. Nauseous and unsteady, Poe staggers to the fresher and hunches over the sink. He leans his weight on his uninjured hand and runs the water as cold as it can go before sticking his hand under it.

This hurts, too, and he has to fight the urge to yank his hand away from this, too. The sudden icy sensation makes his fingers twitch, which also hurts. He presses his forehead against the mirror and grunts, grinding his teeth to keep from screaming as uncomfortable intense feeling crackles through his spine.

 _You like it,_ Ben's voice whispers.

He can't breathe. Every inch of his body hums with tension. It's frustrating. Instead of banishing the tension, the pain only adds to it. Poe presses his forehead harder against the mirror and whines; his fingers curl instinctively, and he inhales sharply as another shiver of pain hits him.

"Mnngh."

He squeezes his eyes shut and wishes, as he often does, that Ben were here. With Ben, this would have a definite beginning and a definite end. Pain didn't last forever. The uncomfortable brainfog didn't, either. With Ben, he never had this constant ever-building tension with no release. It would always _end._ This has no end. It has no beginning. It just keeps going.

Ben would probably find this all very funny. Poe half-expects to hear him laughing somewhere behind him, emerging from the shadows like being dead was just some big joke. It would be just like Ben, Poe thinks with a sort of grim delirious fondness, to fake his own death just to make him miserable.

He realizes that at some point he started sweating, and he also realizes that he has no idea how long he's been running his hand under the ice-cold water. With an aggravated sigh, he locks the door and peels off his clothes and gets into the shower.

 

Adrenaline, he decides, is a decent enough substitute for the sharp reality only Ben could give him. He needs that clarity that he felt when Ben yanked on his hair, dragged his nails over his skin, and sliced him open. He misses the feeling of completely existing in his own body.

He throws himself into the war with reckless abandon. He flies too close to the sun just to feel the heat on his face. The exhileration of diving too close to the ground and yanking himself up again, of just barely scraping through a fight with his ship intact, of running as close to death as he can possibly get, is the only thing that cuts through the fog. It's real. It's perfect.

"You're crazy, man," people tell him, laughing and clapping him on the back.

No one else would even try some of the shit he pulls off. He has something no one else has: an absolute confidence in his abilities that borders on arrogance, and a complete disregard for his own wellbeing. He knows he won't die-- but if he does, whatever. That's the important thing about being a part of a squad. If he dies, they can finish whatever they started without him.

It makes him useful. It makes him valuable. People love him for it.

He's twenty-seven and he's the best pilot in the Resistance, living from death-defying stunt to death-defying stunt. If he's grounded for too long, he stops being a person, but they never ground him for long. He's the best, after all.

Poe throws all of himself into flying, and he throws all of himself into other people. He loves the Resistance fiercely and desperately; takes a blaster shot for someone he just met, trusts strangers with his life, grins broadly at everyone he meets. He doesn't do anything halfway. Touching people makes his stomach lurch and being touched makes him want to die, so he forces himself to do it as often as possible. He's not sure himself if he's doing this to try to get used to it or if he actually wants to feel awful; he goes back and forth.

People tell him he takes more after Han Solo than Ben ever did.

 

***

 

Someone realizes that it's been ages since he had a birthday party, and there's a huge party for his twenty-eighth birthday. Dozens of people show up, all of them happy to see him. All the attention is a bit much, but it's still good. Poe wears his favorite jacket. The night is lit up with sparkling colorful lights, there's a cake with so much frosting it hurts to eat, and he gets more hugs than he can count.

When more than fifty people, including a slightly drunk Chewbacca, stop to sing for him, he actually cries. He can't help it; he's laughing and wiping tears out of his eyes, cheeks pained from smiling too wide. Jess hooks her arm around his neck and kisses him on the cheek and calls him _a sweet soft baby bird_. Leia hugs him tight and says, "I'm so proud of you, Poe." Chewie picks him up and spins him around like he's a little kid.

Poe gets drunk and stays up way too late. It's perfect, and everything is wonderful, and he beams all night long. Several people tell him that he's radiant, that it's good to see him happy-- he kisses at least one of those people on the mouth.

Then, he's halfway back from getting a cup of water, and his mood abruptly plummets. He's alone in the hallway, with the noise of the party slightly muffled, and for the first time in a while it occurs to him that Ben isn't here. That thought alone is enough; a wave of something heavy and unpleasant hits him, and all he can think about is Ben. Thinking about Ben is a visceral experience; he can _feel_ every memory, like they're all happening at the same time. Hands on his skin, mouth on his neck, voice in his ear, soft and painful and cold--

Poe bursts into tears, nasty wracking sobs that shake his entire body, and half-collapses against the wall. At some point he sinks to the floor and curls in on himself, knees tucked to his chest, face buried in his arms, hands tangled in his hair; someone finds him like that, gently touches his shoulder, asks if he's okay.

"I'm fine, everything is _great_ , this party is _perfect,_ I don't know what's wrong with me," Poe says, voice ragged and miserable. He wishes he could rip all the memories he has of Ben out of his head and burn them. He wishes Ben were here. He wishes Ben had never existed.

This must be grief, he thinks. Why else would he want to curl into a ball and disappear every time he thinks about Ben? That's just what it feels like to miss someone, probably. He supposes he's just never lost anyone he felt so strongly about before. He didn't really _know_ his parents, after all. Not as well or as long as he knew Ben.

He doesn't know how he gets back to his room, but when he's there he curls up on his bed and Leia curls her fingers in his hair. She sits on the side of his bed; he assumes she helped him get here. He's not really sure. He's still crying. "I'm sorry I ruined the party," he mumbles into his pillow. She laughs.

"You didn't ruin anything. Everyone had a great time. The night was pretty much over anyway." She adds, wryly, "You'll feel better in the morning. You had a good time, too, you know."

_You liked it._

Poe freezes up, breath stopped in his throat.

_You're enjoying this._

_It's not mean if you liked it._

_shut up stay still just let it happen you like this_

"Poe? Are you alright?"

"I--" _why do you always want to tell everyone everything_ "Yeah, I'm alright, I just... need to sleep."

 

***

 

Bucketheads force him to his knees in the sand on Jakku. His heart beats too fast in his ears. There will be a way out of this. His one solo mission-- _I want you to do this, Poe, because you're family,_ Leia said, so how could he refuse-- means that this is the one time he can't die. He can't.

The jolt of disbelieving recognition does not come when Kylo Ren crouches in front of him and looks into his eyes from behind the mask. Nor when he speaks, deep and humming through the helmet.

It doesn't occur to Poe to speculate on what's under the mask. It doesn't matter. It has never mattered. _A monster,_ everyone says, and that's close enough. The beast that ripped his family apart again doesn't need to have a face.

Even with Kylo Ren right in front of him, staring at him, he doesn't care. He's running on pure adrenaline, 75% furious and 25% terrified. Looking death in the face doesn't exactly inspire curiosity as to what death might look like under his ominous black cowl-- it mostly inspires a giddy unreasonable defiance. If he's thinking at all, he's thinking: _screw you, death. Not this time. I got shit to do._

 

He's thirty-two and he wakes up with blood still in his mouth. His face is sticky with it. Everything is blurry, but there's not much to look at anyway. Kylo Ren is more like a shadow than a person; a towering monstrous thing, ageless and featureless. He takes up a lot of space.

Poe inhales and blinks. Everything spins when he moves his head, so he moves it slowly.

Something about the way he drawls _the best pilot in the Resistance_ makes him twitch, but he's in pain and bleeding and he needs to get back to BB-8 so he doesn't pay much mind to weird twitching.

"Comfortable?"

The way he moves is slow and deliberate. _A predator,_ he thinks deliriously, watching him prowl closer. "Not really," he says.

The pain starts at the base of his skull, like fingernails digging into his skin. It claws its way up over his brain, burning inside his head. The pain tears through him, agony ripping him apart from the inside out. He thrashes, but the pain doesn't relent, doesn't fade. It's inside of him. It's not a wound or a poison, it's the Force that flows through every atom of his being turned into pain. His skin flushes, feverishly overwarm.

The familiarity of it almost cancels out the pain-- it's almost _pleasant,_ feeling this again.

It doesn't click then. The jolt of disbelieving recognition only hits him-- like a knife in the throat-- when Poe chokes out a groan and Kylo Ren chuckles under his breath.

The laugh is familiar.

It's a very specific laugh. Even distorted by the strange filter in the mask, he knows it. He'd know it anywhere. Even through the haze clouding up his head. Poe stares at the towering column of black fabric, gasping for breath, unable to even process the thought before he wheezes, " _Ben?_ "

At the name, Kylo Ren pauses. Considering. Then, mild and amused:

"Took you a minute, Dameron."

The pain seems irrelevant suddenly. Poe flicks his tongue out over his split lip and pulls against the restraints, leaning forward. This is more urgent. "Wh-- how-- you-- is it-- is that really _you?_ "

Kylo Ren nudges off his cowl and lifts the helmet up off his head, and Poe inhales sharply and presses his back hard against the rack as if thrown back. It's Ben. Seven years older than he was when Poe saw him last, but still pale, still dark-eyed, still not-quite-pretty and still enchanting. His dark hair is mussed up from the helmet. He's alive.

He's been gone seven years, and Poe was sure he would never see him again. He spent so long talking himself out of the deluded hope that this was all somehow a mistake and Ben was okay-- but he was right all along. How could he have been right? "You died _,_ " Poe says numbly. "They told me you-- you _died!_ "

 Ben's mouth twitches into a small mean smile. "Did they, now."

"Fuck, _Ben_ \--" There's too much to say, and he's too out of it, and everything comes tumbling out of his mouth at once. "How did you-- there were no survivors-- the Jedi Killer--"

He stops as the realization comes, the full implications of this settling over him. Kylo Ren is the Jedi Killer, and Ben is Kylo Ren. The new head of the First Order's inquisition. "But you--" Poe can't breathe. It doesn't make sense. He can't imagine it. He can't reconcile the Ben he knows and this person in front of him. "How could you do this?"

Not horrified, just confused. There is an explanation for this. There has to be an explanation. Maybe it's a trick, or there's more than one Kylo Ren, or he's just dreaming. Maybe this is a trick. Surely, Ben will crack a smile and say _just kidding_ and they can go back to normal. Surely, Ben will roll his eyes and insist he was _just playing_. It was just another thing Ben did to fuck with him. Everyone is fine. Nobody died. He would never do that. Ben would never kill anyone.

" _This_ being... what?" Ben drops his helmet on the floor with a heavy clang of metal on metal. Poe flinches.

"Any of it. You couldn't have killed them. The other-- the other students," He stumbles, trying to blink his vision clear. Breathing is difficult; speaking, more so. "Luke's students. I know you wouldn't do something like that."

He _knows._ Ben was-- is-- a lot of things, but murderer isn't one of them. Ben cocks his head to the side and wrinkles his eyebrows slightly. "You really believe that," he says.

"Why are you doing this? Where have you been? What's going on? I--"

"You're annoying me, Dameron." Ben twists his hand and pain slams into him once again. It's worse this time, somehow-- more intense, closer to unbearable. He screams. His writhing makes the restraints rattle. Through the pain, he can hear Ben's voice: as ever, the only clarity in a mass of uncertainty.

"What do I have to say to get it through your thick head? Would you like to see it for yourself?"

An entirely new sensation floods through him. Images and sensations shove into his head-- memories that aren't his forcing their way inside of him. He _remembers_ killing Luke's students. He remembers the hum of the lightsaber in his hand, remembers watching them crumple to the ground, remembers the broken burned corpses scattered around him like discarded toys. They are Ben's memories, and he knows with an unbearable certainty that they are real.

The pain reaches a new peak before it stops all at once and Poe is left gasping desperately for breath, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, cheeks wet with tears. His throat is raw from screaming. He stares up at Ben, heaving in air. His skin is buzzing.

"No," he says. Then, more fervently: " _No._ No."

Kylo Ren is evil. They know what he's done. What's he's proud of doing. He's a mass murderer the likes of which no one has seen in decades. He took on the title of Jedi Killer and reveled in it. All along, under that mask, it's been Ben. Not some anonymous fucked-up lunatic from somewhere far away, not a cloud of Dark Side smoke, not a monstrous snarling creature; just Ben. Ben, who has known since he was a baby.

Ben is giving him that look-- like he's a phenomenon of mild interest. Watching his reaction.

"It's not true," Poe rasps, barely audible. His mouth is very dry. His entire body is trembling. He feels hollow, like Ben's carved out everything under his skin and the only thing left of him is a thin shell that might break apart at any moment.

Poe doesn't want to believe it. He stares at Ben's face, as though by staring desperately at his face he could make sense of this. "I don't-- I don't _understand_ ," he says weakly. "I _know_ you. You're not like that. It's-- it's _not possible._ There has to be... there has to be something. Something happened, or this isn't you, or-- or you're being controlled, or--"

"Search your feelings," Ben says. "You know it to be true."

Poe shudders in a breath.

Thinking about it-- actually thinking about it-- reconciling Kylo Ren with his best friend is not as difficult as he wants it to be. He doesn't want to think about it. Everything Ben ever did to him looks different in light of this. It looks uglier. Ben has always been violent and cruel. It's not like Ben made some dramatic leap from the boy who would toss berries into his mouth on humid summer mornings and the terrifying murderer standing in front of him right now. That boy with the berries is the same one who nearly killed Poe over and over and over again, the same one who cut scars into Poe's chest and told him that his pained gasping was _pretty_.

Poe can taste bile in the back of his throat.

It was probably obvious to everyone else. They must have thought he was a total idiot. It should have been obvious to him; he saw more of Ben than anyone else. He knew him best. He was the only one who could have stopped this, and he didn't, because he's _stupid._

Humiliation constricts his breathing. He hates himself. His vision swims. Anyone else would have seen this coming. Anyone who wasn't stupid.

"Oh, look at you. You poor fool." Ben steps closer again, and Poe wishes it were possible to move back. He doesn't want Ben any closer. His mind is racing, scrambling to force him to think about every interaction with Ben he ever had all at once to try and-- he's not sure. Maybe to try and figure out if this was ever real. If Ben was always evil. "I didn't think she would, but I'm glad General Organa lied to you about me. This is priceless."

 _He would have to hate me,_ he thought, that first time. _He would have to hate me, and he doesn't._

Poe shudders against the restraints, choking on a flood of horror. It's like this has allowed him-- _forced_ him-- to remember, clearly, what his relationship with Ben actually was like. He never forgot anything. Instead, he'd avoided thinking about it, hoping that eventually he might forget. Now, he can't _not_ think about it.

_Ben, stop it--_

_I can't breathe--_

"No, no, no, no, _no_ \--"

_it hurts--_

_not now not here I don't want to--_

_Ben, please-- please-- please--_

Poe can feel his heart beating a hundred times too fast, hammering in his ears and throat, and he can feel himself hyperventilating, but everything is spinning out of control and he's not sure he actually exists in his body any more.

His own voice sounds alien and distant. "You _raped me_ ," he says.

"I think that's debatable," Ben says, wry and casual and unruffled. Like he thinks Poe is being ridiculous. "You never said _no._ You enjoyed everything I did to you. You're the one who wanted to have sex in the first place. You're older than me, too-- I mean, if someone was taking advantage, do you really think it was me?"

That sounds convincing for a moment-- just a moment, but it's enough to make him feel dizzy all over again. He digs his fingernails into his palms to steady himself. "You got inside my head, you-- you promised you wouldn't, and you did anyway," He realizes this is true as he says it, and a fresh wave of disgust crashes over him. Ben promised, and Poe _believed him._

"You ought to have known that all along, though. It was obvious. You had no reason to believe me," Ben says. "You knew, deep down, and you just didn't care."

But that's not true, and Poe knows it's not true. Despite all the evidence suggesting Ben was a liar, Poe _had_ believed him. Because they were family, because Poe loved him, because he wanted to believe that Ben was a good person.

Something entirely new seizes Poe's chest: fury. He's never felt so angry, not ever in his life. He wasn't _naïve,_ and he wasn't _stupid._ It isn't naïve to believe someone when they tell you they love you. It's not stupid to try to see the best in people. This wasn't his fault. That Ben would dare to suggest that means that Poe really was wrong about him-- he is cruel, he is a liar, and he probably never cared about Poe at all.

"Now you're going to tell me what you did with the map."

He still can't breathe, but he feels a surge of defiance under his skin that makes him feel like he can speak. "What for? So you can kill Luke?"

Ben's expression darkens. "Exactly. He cannot be allowed to rebuild the Jedi and throw the galaxy back into chaos."

Poe clenches his hands into fists and spits, with as much venom as he can manage, "You're fucking crazy."

"You haven't seen what I've seen, Poe. You don't know-- you don't know the kind of suffering that still stains huge swathes of the galaxy. The Clone Wars took millions of lives. The Jedi bred clones to die for them-- _human beings,_ Poe, born and raised for the sole purpose of dying for the Jedi's meaningless war," Ben combs his hands through his hair and inhales sharply. There's a gleaming intensity in his face that Poe doesn't recognize at all. It's repulsive. Ben exhales and shakes his head. "You wouldn't understand. It doesn't matter."

"With anyone else, I would rip the information right out of their skull, but you-- you'll just tell me. Even now," Ben says, with a crooked grin. "Because you love me. You're hopeless."

Poe snarls, " _I_ _hate you._ Your mind tricks won't work on me any more!"

Ben holds out a hand, and everything slows down. His pounding heart, his gasping breath, the spinning room; it all slows, and a thick calm surrounds him. It's terrifying.

"Your will is mine already, Poe. It always has been. I know your mind better than you know it yourself," Ben's voice drops, low and heavy and alluring, and Poe shudders in a breath. The air hums as Ben speaks. It's so easy to fall back into this. It's easy. "You belong to me. You'll do whatever I say. You always knew who and what I was, deep down, and you didn't care."

"I-- no--" Poe blinks a few times and shakes his head, but it doesn't change anything. He doesn't know how to resist this. He only knows how to give in. Pressure leans on him, harder and harder, on all sides. All he can hear is Ben's voice, vibrating in his chest. It almost feels like it's _his_ voice saying it. It feels convincing. Familiar. Correct. Resisting isn't just difficult-- as Ben continues to speak, he can't remember why he would even want to.

"If you ever had a chance of resisting me, it's gone now. You can't break out of conditioning that easily. Especially not when you took to it so eagerly in the first place. The patterns of your mind are set. They can't be changed on a whim."

Everything else slips away. He can't hold onto anything; not the thought of Leia trusting him to get the map to her, not the anger he was feeling just a second ago, not even the desire to be angry. It's all too slippery, too immaterial.

Ben twists his hand and all Poe can look at is his face, so pale it almost glows. " _You're going to tell me what you did with the map,_ " he says, and the pressure mounts.

There's nothing he can do but crumble.

"I am-- going to-- I'm going to tell you what I did with the map," he says numbly.

"There's a good boy," Ben purrs, and Poe feels a distant flutter of pleasure at that. "Where is it?"

"It's--" _I'm trusting you with this, Poe._ "I-- g-gave it to BB-8. My droid. Custom white and orange paint. It's still on Jakku. In the desert. Can't have gotten far, rolling over the sand."

"Where's it going? Another Resistance agent on Jakku?"

"Nowhere. We don't have anyone on Jakku. I just told it to get away."

It feels like his head is going to explode. The pressure is too much. Ben laughs.

"Really, you have General Organa to thank for this. If she'd told you the truth seven years ago, you would have stood a chance. Or Luke. He's the one who taught me how to do this in the first place."

It's Leia's fault. Luke's fault. Anyone's fault but Ben's. That's easier. That's simpler. That's more comfortable than the taste of bile in his mouth, than the too-hot sensation of anger pounding in his veins, than the endlessly repeating memories of Ben's hands and mouth on his skin.

As though prompted by this thought, the pressure suddenly lifts.

This time Poe is left with hollow failure and his throat torn up and humiliation burning through his veins.

He had _one job._

Soft leather touches his cheek, trails down to his chin. A firm hand tilts his head up, and he's looking into Ben's eyes, vision dimming at the edges.

"Still my favorite hobby," Ben murmurs.

Poe tries to jerk his head out of Ben's grip, but Ben tightens it and then says, " _Sleep._ "

 

***

 

"Ren wants the prisoner."

It's a miracle Poe's legs can support him at all; maybe Ben thinks it would be _funny_ if he tried to run. Everything is foggy, until-- until it's not.

The stormtrooper yanks him into an alcove.

"Listen carefully: you do exactly as I say, I can get you out of here," he hisses urgently. Poe snaps into reality, blinks, stares.

"If -- what--?" Is this some kind of trick-- some kind of mind game Ben is playing with him? Cutting him loose just to see how far he can run before he gets grabbed again? He's too groggy and exhausted to deal with this kind of whiplash.

The stormtrooper pulls off his helmet. This is the first time Poe has ever seen that happen; part of him always wondered if they even _could_ take those things off. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it wasn't an anxious-sweating wide-eyed _kid._ "This is a rescue, I'm helping you escape," says the kid. The look in his eyes is enough to tell Poe that this isn't a trick; he looks terrified.

For a second, he hesitates, but-- if he can get out of here, then this isn't unsalvagable. He can get back to Jakku, get to BB-8 before Ben, get the map home. He can undo the damage he did. Everything could be okay. It won't be _okay_ , but-- this is the one thing he can fix. This is the one part of this disaster that he can control.

He can run faster than Ben thinks he can. He can fly better than Ben thinks he can. He can be better than Ben thinks he can. If Ben thinks he's broken and miserable and he'll never trust anybody ever again-- _Leia did this, Luke did this, anyone's fault but Ben's_ \-- he'll fucking show him.

Being suspicious of anyone isn't like him. Defiance surges through him, sort of petty and sort of delirious; he won't let Ben change him any more than he already has. He will power through it like he always has, bowling over anxious instinct with hardheaded determination.

_Screw you, Ben, maybe he's my new best friend._

He gives the kid a bloody-toothed grin and tells him, "We're gonna do this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its done! thanks everyone for reading!!!! i am not good at responding to comments but!!! thank you so much for all the lovely comments so far!!! if you left a comment please know that i read it (& reread it & rereread it) and it made me smile and i love you! i really seriously appreciate it, especially with a fic like this where it's too miserable for literally all my friends and i wasn't sure i should even post it hahhhh ;;;;;;


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